


Strangeness and Charm - Siege of Dragonspear

by AvandraTheMarySueSlayer



Series: Strangeness and Charm [2]
Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: A little less slow now, Evil Charname, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, In later chapters anyway - Freeform, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-03-05 04:33:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 61,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13380276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvandraTheMarySueSlayer/pseuds/AvandraTheMarySueSlayer
Summary: Cat the Bhaalspawn has become infamous throughout the Sword Coast as the one who slayed Sarevok... and countless others. Now she must face the threat of the Shining Lady and her crusade for Dragonspear Castle, and hopefully find some answers about how to claim her birthright. She won't be alone, as she counts on some valuable new allies and an old one that could become even more. Second part of Strangeness and Charm, a story which follows the growing relationship between my Bhaalspawn and everyone's favorite blackguard.





	1. Prologue - Something unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhh, I am so happy to start with this second part! I would like to thank everyone who liked and commented on the first part, you make my day and help me to go on, and I really hope you enjoy this new story. Unlike the first part, this one is still not finished, so I still don't know how many chapters it will have. If, at some point, I run out of chapters to post, I will be sure to keep posting other stories and one shots while I finish writing. Of course, I will let you know if it comes to that. Anyway, enjoy!

Ignoring Imoen's complaints about the “creepy dungeon”, Cat gestured her group to get moving further into the old tomb, eager to catch Korlasz. As they advanced into the tortuous stone passage, she silently sized up her new companions. Right after defeating Sarevok, Branwen heard the calling of Tempus, commanding her to sail back to her natal island. Coran had promised to accompany her, but when the day came, he was nowhere to be found. To Cat's credit, the priestess brushed it off, commenting she had expected just as much from the sneaky elf. Lastly, Rasaad had decided to aid the endless swarms of refugees that were welcomed every day at the Iron Throne building, fleeing from the crusaders that were raiding the region. All of the mage's former companions failed to tell her that they were also terrified of her divine heritage. Whatever. She had found herself some very decent replacements.

 

She and Dorn had made up a list of requirements for their potential associates for that quest, so they could find those who would better fit their needs. Viconia was the group priestess. She had not been as hard to convince as Cat had expected; the woman was sick and tired of wandering the forest and hiding from the  _ rivvin. _ Safana also tagged along after the witch promised her a share of the riches they found. Her ability to detect and deactivate mechanisms was truly unquestionable, and Cat admired her charming nature; it was pleasant to talk to someone who spoke the same language as herself. Baeloth accepted to collaborate with his magic talent; he was still fairly new to the surface world, and though he would never admit it, he seemed to take preference for travelling in a group. Besides, he had been promised entertainment, of the lethal kind. The other mage, Edwin, had been a harder nut to crack. Cat did not like his condescending attitude one bit, but the muttered insults he let out when he seemed to think no one could hear him were amusing enough. In the end, some reverse psychology did the trick; if the proud Thayvian mage could not stand something, it was for his power and intellect to be called into question. So when Cat said that the group could do perfectly without him, the man all but bellowed about how necessary he would be to the cause… especially if the tomb they were planning to raid contained any kind of magic items he could put his hands on.

 

And so, Cat found herself leading a pack of misfits and outcasts… and found that it wasn’t quite that bad, even with Viconia and Safana’s complaints about the dust, cobwebs and dirt that covered the narrow, dimly lit hallways. Baeloth and Edwin aided her in keeping zombies and ghouls away with fireballs, while Viconia cast away the ghasts, Dorn slashed and cut and gutted anything or anyone that managed to reach the group, and Safana watched out for traps for everyone and picked any lock there was to unlock. It was working out just fine…

 

Until they reached that damned door.

 

Cat had decided to give her companions a moment to heal their wounds while Safana searched for a way to open that huge oak door and finally reach Korlasz. The witch was frowning at her spellbook as she copied some new scrolls she had found. She was nearly out of magic; the undead that lurked in the tomb were quite the challenge, far more so than the few living souls that stood against them in the necromancer’s name. The spectres had been especially nasty, trying to suck the life out of the adventurers. However, they were close; she could tell. Maybe if she pushed a bit harder, they would be able to finally take down that wretched Sarevok follower. The woman would undoubtedly be accompanied by the remainder of her followers, as well as her undead forces. Perhaps a couple fireballs and fear spells would rid the group of the lesser pests, so they could focus on the necromancer before she could use her own magic to damage the team. Maybe she’d be protected by spells of her own; Cat would probably need to break through her defenses and disrupt her magic before anything else, as she was the only one among the three magic wielders of the group who knew how to do it, much to the two men’s chagrin.

 

“Cat, may I have a word with you?”

 

The witch blinked and turned to face Dorn as he approached her with a serious frown. She had been so caught up in her tactic schemes that she didn't hear him coming, loud and heavy as his steps were.

 

“Sorry. What is it?”

 

The half-orc hesitated. Something he never did.  _ Bad news,  _ Cat thought.

 

“My patron…” he murmured, his dark eyes not quite meeting hers. “He’s calling me.”

 

“And?”

 

More hesitation.

 

“I will have to leave soon. Then I shall see what tasks he has in store for me.”

 

_ What? _

 

Cat’s eyes widened in disbelief at what she just heard. He, of all people, would leave her side? The one person she trusted, the one who had been so glad to follow her lead, especially after he found out that she was a half-goddess?

 

“Leave?” She took a deep breath, trying to swallow down the fury rising up in her chest. It was to no avail, as she spat her next words like venom. “As in, breaking our association?”

 

“That’s not–”

 

“No! Save it,” she interrupted him, in a much brasher tone that she had intended. Her next words, however, were colder than the Spine of the World. “Everyone is free to leave the group whenever they desire. When will you go?”

 

“After we are done with Korlasz,” Dorn grumbled. “Listen, Cat–”

 

“I think I have found the mechanism to open the door,” Safana chimed in, startling the pair with her stealthy approach. “It’s guarded, but it shouldn't be much trouble. Just two scared idiots, we should be able to take them down in a heartbeat.”

 

Cat sighed, trying her best to cool down.

 

“Alright, let’s not waste any more time.”

 

The blackguard sent her another  of his indecipherable stares. Was it shame that Cat saw in those dark eyes? Regret, perhaps? Or was it just what she wished to see? Deciding it was not worth her time, she looked away, crossing her arms. As he left in front, she looked again, wondering where she should strike him with her magic missiles. Just then, Safana approached her, eyeing her tense face questioningly.

 

“Have I interrupted something?”

 

Cat shook her head, running a hand through her tangled black locks.

 

“No. No, you came just in time. Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

Imoen laid in Cat's bed, pale and unmoving. Despite the careful attention she was receiving, her friend wouldn't wake up.

 

_ This is my fault. Those assassins came for me, not her. _

 

The mage turned away, unable to look no longer, and opened the chest that contained her belongings. She rummaged through it, determined to sell the spoils of her touring down Korlasz’ family tomb. She would be out in the city with Corwin to find some of her old acquaintances, so she'd definitely use the opportunity to make a trip to Sorcerous Sundries. She was eager to part; while at the beginning she loved the title of “hero” of Baldur's Gate and she revelled in the limelight and the luxuries offered to her, she soon tired of the dukes’ demands and the peasants and nobles’ pitiful requests for errands. And though the palace was colossal and filled with all the sumptuous, lavish treats that she adored, it still felt like a prison. It was Candlekeep all over again, just fancier and prettier. And with ruby wine. The beverage was probably the only good reason for her to stay in the castle. She remembered a recent night, when she got so drunk that she somehow found herself in Duke Eltan’s bedroom, throwing up in his wardrobe. Luckily for her, nobody ever found out who did it. Or perhaps they were too scared of her to confront her about it? In that stupid place, details mattered little.

 

Such were the woman's thoughts as her hand gripped something cold and metallic. The hilt of a sword.

 

It was Dorn's Rancor.

 

Back at the tomb, they had found a better greatsword for him, with a serrated edge he became rather excited about trying, stating that it would tear his enemies apart when he pulled it out of their hearts. Cat rolled her eyes at the memory and the pleasant, almost nostalgic feeling it evoked. She had been just slightly upset at the parting of her first group, but the blackguard's infuriated her.

 

_ So much for helping me to ascend. _

 

Logically, she should not be angry. From the very beginning, he had been honest about where his loyalty laid. But when he found out about Cat's heritage, it was as if he was seeing her in a new light, and for a brief time, she had thought she had an actual follower… perhaps even a potential worshipper. Besides, he seemed to truly understand her, something no one else had achieved before. And she felt oddly comfortable with it. It was easy to talk to him, even with his grouch disposition and his fiery temperament. She had come to consider him a friend; a  _ real _ friend, instead of just an instrument to achieve her goals. Such was an honor she only reserved for Imoen and the half-orc, so it was a great deal. She even came to believe that maybe,  _ just  _ maybe, she wanted him to be more than that. But in the end, he left her, like everyone else. And though she shouldn't care about it, there she was, pissed like a child who did not get her candy. She knew she should be more mature than that. She was supposed to.

 

Was she?

 

“Oh, fuck it,” she muttered, taking the sword and the bolts with her.

 

It was a petty move on her part, but selling Dorn's possessions would surely make her feel a bit better. Perhaps she’d also have a couple drinks on him. For the trouble. No one should ever be able to confuse and hurt her like that without any sort of consequence. No matter how tall, dark and handsome they were.


	2. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cat infiltrates the Crusader camp that is laying siege on the Bridgefort, and finds someone she did not expect to ever see again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to this new chapter of Strangeness and Charm! Sorry if the plot is a bit slow to advane, but Dorn's romance is quite slow, even for someone as straightforward as he is. And that is something I actually like. Besides, when I think something might happen, Cat reacts in a completely unexpected way. I have no control over this ladyspawn, and I honestly think this is great. I hope you agree with me. Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

 

“No, please, don’t kill us! Please!”

 

The sound of the crusaders’ pleas was music to Cat's ears. She leisurely sauntered towards the wall where the switch was, hearing their begs become more desperate.

 

_Ha! Where is your Shining Lady now?_

 

She placed her hand on the switch and waited, revelling in the sobs of the caged men. Yes, that was the kind of power she sought out. The power to decide who got to live and who died. After she discovered her divine heritage, she had strived to make sense of it, to figure out what it meant to her and how she should put it to use. In that place, her birthplace, it all became clear to her. The eyeless priestess of Bhaal she had fred had been rather enlightening about her past, but also about her possible future path. She would not be the pawn of her father's game. Yes, she had her sights set on divinity, but she would do it in her own terms. It was not just about murder, it was the whole cycle of death in all its shapes that should belong to her. And it _would_ belong to her.

 

Deciding she had heard enough of the pathetic creatures in the cages, she pushed the switch. Right on cue, spikes shot up from under the prisoners’ feet, impaling them and tearing through flesh and muscle, killing them instantly. The sight brought a smile to Cat's face. She opened Keherrem’s jail and searched his corpse. Sewed onto his shirt was a crusader badge. It was a little worn, giving away the man’s experience in the battlefield. It was all the better; Caelar's army doubled the Fists’, so it was imperative to eliminate as many of the Crusader elites as possible.

 

“What are you waiting for? We have to move!” Edwin protested, breaking the blissful silence that the deaths of the crusaders had brought. “(This woman has too much of a taste for gore. Why do I always end up surrounded either by idiotic monkeys or demented wretches?) _”_

 

Cat smiled politely at the very irritating mage, ignoring his muttered insults. She had found again most of those who aided her to kill Korlasz, and now they travelled by her side, eager to end the crusade. However, that old Bhaal temple that had been desecrated by Cyric’s followers seemed to disturb the group. Perhaps it was the eerie sense of doom brought by the stone walls that radiated pale purple light from within, perhaps it was the stench of excrements that came from the jails, perhaps it was the mad Cyricists they just slayed, or maybe it was the side effect of fighting the mind flayer who had taken over the place, but Cat was the only one who did not seem uncomfortable in that place of cult.

 

“Let’s go, then.”

* * *

  


The Crusader camp was well fortified, with a tall wooden fence surrounding its grounds. Inside, tents of all sizes scattered throughout, and the crusader veterans trained the rookies or barked orders at their subordinates, while in the north section arrows, boulders and fireballs flew between the camp and Bridgefort. Their destination. Cat gestured at her group to move. She would not give the crusaders the wardstone they had found in the temple of Bhaal, but the place was definitely worth investigating.

 

“Our priority is to find Cat,” she heard a voice not too far behind her.

 

The woman gently placed a hand on Safana’s shoulder.

 

“Can you turn around and look at the woman who’s talking… discreetly?”

 

Pretending to tie back her boots, Safana crouched and cast a furtive glance at the woman. She wore a gray tunic and she paced around nervously, eyeing the besieging of the fort. She did not notice the group of new “recruits” that was passing by.

 

“I think we should investigate somewhere else,” Cat muttered, signaling the group to follow her and tucking her face further into the protection of her hood.

 

The south area was comprised of the camp's livestock, as well as piles and stocks of straw. For a second, Cat pondered whether she would be able to find a needle amongst a particularly abundant pile of dried reed. Next to it, a chicken wandered about, aimless and dull like most of its species. Its feathers were covered in dust from the road, the ground and the battles past. Suddenly, the avian stopped its clueless stroll, stared at Cat and clucked. She decided it best to ignore the animal and continue her investigation… but then she heard more clucking, this time closer to her. She turned and saw that the chicken was following her. She arched an eyebrow.

 

“Eh, you may follow me, but I won’t hold myself responsible if you die.”

 

Edwin huffed.

 

“Talking to animals now, are we?” He drawled, glaring at both Cat and the chicken. “(She goes crazier with each passing day. I still don’t understand why she is still leading this group.)”

 

“I once met a mage who accidentally polymorphed himself into a chicken,” Cat replied, pensive.

 

“Well, that looks like a regular chicken–” Viconia began to say when a guttural voice interrupted her.

 

“Free us! Get us out!”

 

Farther south, there were several rows of tall iron cages, most of them occupied by trolls, who were hissing and pleading for the adventurers to release them. Cat approached the gargantuan, stinking creatures, curious as to why the crusaders would bother to imprison them instead of just killing them. Then, she heard a voice from a cage to her right.

 

“Ignore the trolls. You’re nothing but meat to them. I, however, have more to offer –if you release me.”

 

_Wait. I know that voice._

 

Effectively, one of the cages was occupied by a towering, bulky, reasonably angry half-orc. He had been deprived of his equipment, and wore only his travel clothing. Cat blinked, taking in the sight of his scowl and his hands clutching the cage bars, his knuckles white from the effort. Before she could contain herself, she broke into a fit of laughter. Her companions eyed her in expressions that varied from amusement and annoyance to genuine worry. She paid no mind to it and advanced towards the cage.

 

“Dorn Il-Khan,” she said, removing her hood to reveal her face, still trying to hold back her laughter. “I never thought I’d see you caged. What happened?”

 

“Cat,” the blackguard seemed disconcerted to see the witch at the crusader camp. “What are you doing here–? No, I don’t care. Open the cage. Free me.”

 

“And us. Let us out too!” The trolls croaked from their own prison.

 

“Silence, vermin. Sentient creatures are talking,” Dorn barked at the creatures before turning back to face the woman outside the cage, his intense stare filled with urgency. “What are you waiting for, Cat? Release me!”

 

The witch reached out for the door. It had a thick iron latch that prevented the cage from being forced open from the inside. However, there was a lever that would allow her to easily remove the securing latch. She placed a hand on the lever, smirking at the increasingly frustrated blackguard. She was really enjoying the situation.

 

“If I do, will you fight the crusade at my side?”

 

“I’ll fight by your side, Lathander’s side, the side of any who would see crusader blood spilled,” he hurriedly replied, eager to escape his confinement.

 

That was nearly not enough of what Cat expected, not after he left her, but it would have to do for the moment. Besides, she could not help but feel excited by their unlikely reunion.

 

“Cat and Dorn Il-Khan. We’ll make a good team, you and I,” she told him, beaming in genuine enthusiasm.

 

He nodded, with a fierce grin of his own.

 

“Those crusaders who survive our onslaught shall tremble at our names.”

 

Somewhat satisfied, Cat pulled the lever. The latch slid to the side, leaving the door open for Dorn to walk out.

 

“Yes. Yes!” He exclaimed, exposing his fangs in a toothy smile as he stretched his arms. “Few things taste so good as freedom.”

 

Cat could not help but wonder how free he truly was under his patron’s grip, and whether the mission the devil had in store for him was what got him in a cage, but she refrained from saying anything, judging it better to encourage his vengeful intent.

 

“Your captors’ blood would surely be one of them,” she whispered, brushing his strong arm with her fingertips, secretly marvelling at its hardness. “Join me and we will drink it by the bucket.”

 

He seemed rather excited by the prospect, as the witch knew he would.

 

“Oh yes. Yes, we shall,” he quickly responded, taking a few steps ahead to examine his surroundings. “Look around. I saw two crusaders handing my blade not an hour past— the equipment stolen from me cannot be far from here.”

 

“Of course, but do tell me, how did you end up a prisoner of the crusaders?” Cat insisted, intent on finding out what the hell he had left her company for.

 

Dorn grumbled in obvious dislike at the question, but still answered.

 

“I was tasked with slaying Reverend Brother Hormorn, one of Caelar's priests, during a ceremony they call the Enlightenment,” he explained. “I did not anticipate the leader of the camp would be able to defeat me.”

 

“You mean the Barghest?”

 

Cat had heard of the man, and caught a glimpse of him as she investigated the place, right before the crusader mage Safana saw began to speak of the need to find the half-goddess. He was a massive half-orc warrior whose presence clearly intimidated friends and foes alike. Rumors of his involvement with the crusade and his ruthlessness in battle reached the Fists’ camp. It was no wonder Dorn was defeated. The blackguard's face was contorted in anger at the memory.

 

“He was a lot stronger than he let on. I am certain he was blessed by the priest. Next time I fight him I will not underestimate his might.”

 

“And you won't be fighting him alone, “Cat replied. “Let us find your equipment first, then we shall go to the Bridgefort and get ready to take down this camp and burn it to the ground.”

 

Right then, the chicken that had been following Cat decided that it was a good time to cluck and roam around. Narrowing her eyes in suspicion, she followed the animal to a chest that was located right next to the piles of straw. She opened it and, somewhat unsurprisingly, found Dorn’s belongings. He hastily took everything and began to equip himself with his full plate armor. Unfortunately, such a heavy piece took quite some time to put on, so the group quickly gained the attention of a nearing crusader.

 

“Halt! Isn’t that one of our prisoners?”

 

It was plain to see by the acne marks in his face that he was a new recruit, barely a grown man. He probably had no idea how Dorn ended up in a cage. An excuse was worth the risk, if it could buy them more time to investigate the camp and get a more detailed insight into the crusaders’ resources.

 

“He is a deserter from the enemy army. He says he has valuable information about the Flaming Fists and their position, so I have been ordered to free him and equip him so he can join us.”

 

“Oh,” the crusader stammered a bit. “Then I-I guess I shall leave this to you. May the light shine upon you.”

 

“Yeah, you too.”

 

Cat watched the young man leave, and sighed in relief. She was eager to destroy that camp, as it would surely upset Caelar greatly. She wondered if she would be able to actually enrage the sanctimonious aasimar.

 

Her thoughts were interrupted by a lot of clucking and a loud squeal. Cat spun on her heels and saw Edwin clutching a bleeding finger in his hand and cursing at the dusty chicken.

 

“That creature from hell just bit me!” He claimed in indignation, pointing at the chicken with his good index. “(That chicken is too smart for its own good.)”

 

Cat groaned.

 

“Did you try to grab it?”

 

“Wha–NO!” Edwin sputtered, taken aback by the question. “Why would I want to touch that disgusting fiend? (How does she do it to always uncover my intentions? Can she read minds, maybe? This is most problematic.)”

 

“Are you sure you didn't touch it?”

 

The Red Wizard fidgeted, muttering to himself with his eyes fixed at some point in the ground. Cat crossed her arms and waited.

 

“Alright! I thought that filthy avian was _too_ smart, so I tried to examine it and it attacked me!” He finally recognized, scowling at the offending chicken, who crowed… perhaps in defiance?

 

Cat crouched, gently laid her arms and the chicken happily climbed into her lap. She cradled it and sneered at the baffled mage.

 

“I told you some chickens are special,” she triumphantly scoffed.

 

“I’m ready,” Dorn rumbled, clad in steel and greatsword in hand, interrupting the mages’ discussion. “Shall we go now?”

 

Cat gazed at him, taking in the wild expression he bore. He was surely starved for battle and slaughter, and she would readily deliver. Even though the sting of his offense was still present, the prospect of fighting alongside him once more made her feel unstoppable, invincible.

 

“Let’s go. We have much to do.”

 

As Cat led her party, Dorn approached her to walk by her side.

 

“What about the rest of my equipment? I recall leaving some bolts and my old sword in your care,” he inquired.

 

_Oh. right._

 

“Well… let’s just say I took it as payment for your leave,” Cat replied with a devious smile.

 

“You did WHAT?”

 

“Hey, Edwin! Isn’t that Vichand over there? Let’s go greet him!” Cat suggested, hurrying to kill the wizard and hoping that Dorn would spend the ire she had just stirred in him in the task.

 

Though, truth be told, she regretted nothing.

 

_The bastard deserves it._

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please do let me know what you think. I take feedback very seriously and it honestly makes my day when someone comes over and tells me their opinion about my work. Anyway, tension will be building up in the next few chapters, so stay tuned!


	3. Something I can never have

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After learning the truth about the purpose of her siring at the temple of Bhaal where she was born, Cat has a word with Khalid at Bridgefort while she tries to fight her father's growing sway in her very being. Or rather, chapter in which Cat is an emo brat, Dorn is a dense asshole and I tire of making serious summaries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there again! Hope you like this chapter. This is based in the dialogue with the eyeless priestess at the desecrated temple of Bhaal at the forest of wyrms. It struck me as odd that the Bhaalspawn would not put two and two together when Madele mentions a Harper in love with a priestess who begged for her not to sacrifice her child. Of course, this is later revealed in ToB, but I think the bit of information about charname's birth is something that should be taken into account. And thus, this chapter was made. Also, Boareskyr Bridge was Bhaal's dying place and Mr. Oh So Mysterious Hooded Man mentions that the Bhaalspawn can hear Bhaal's whispers in there, so I figured it would affect them in a similar way the Slayer form does. Hence Cat's weirdness in this chapter. I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

 

Soldiers at the Bridgefort were scarce and scared. The refugees were much more so. _Useless little shits,_ Cat thought as she strode down the stone hallways. The fort was strong, with thick walls that could hold long enough for the Flaming Fists to reach the Crusader camp… as long as nothing happened to the bridge or the present defenses. Supposedly, the fort had enough resources to hold the besiege; it seemed that they only needed the reinforcements. Cat made a mental note to advise Khalid for a swift attack; waiting around would do them no good, and she didn't want the half-elf to even consider surrendering the castle, like the cowardly blacksmith of the fort suggested. She wanted to _crush_ the crusaders’ camp, and she _would_ damn do it. But first, there was an issue that needed her immediate attention. An issue related with the findings she’d made at the temple of Bhaal.

 

“Wait for me here, I have to talk to Khalid,” she commanded her companions.

* * *

Officers barked out orders as archers readied their ammunition. Fire arrows lit up the night sky as they zoomed from both sides of the battlefield. A soldier fell from a side turret, landing face-first a few feet away from Cat, splattering blood and guts everywhere. Wrinkling her nose, Cat carefully dodged the fallen soldier’s remains and made her way to the front of the parapet. Khalid was tucked behind the wall, nocking an arrow. The witch greeted him and hid behind the wall with him.

 

“May I have your attention for a moment? I need to speak to you… in private,” she asked.

 

“Oh, uh, of course,” the fighter stuttered and motioned a veteran to take his position.

 

Khalid led the woman to his private quarters. Like the rest of the fortress, the room wasn't too big or luscious; all hard stone walls and floor, an individual bed with covers that were way too thin for the time of year, and pine wood desk and chair. On the wall opposite to the entrance, a small window that resembled an arrowslit would let a thin ray of sunlight in during the day, but then, at night, candles were required to light up the place. Cat did not hesitate to make herself comfortable and sat on the bed, stretching her limbs as Khalid eyed her uncomfortably. Well, let him be uncomfortable; it would probably make him talk faster.

 

“W-well, what do you need to t-talk about?”

 

Cat flicked her black curls and crossed her legs, smirking. Oh, she was going to enjoy this.

 

“Did I tell you where I found the wardstone to enter the fort?”

 

“Ah, I don’t t-think so,” the half-elf replied, his brow slightly furrowed in confusion.

 

“There is a nearby temple to the east, at the forest of wyrms… does it ring a bell, perhaps?”

 

Cat’s grin amplified at Khalid's startled expression. It brought her a cruel satisfaction to see him so troubled.

 

“I-I don’t think I know what—”

 

“Alright, I see I’ll have to be more specific. It used to be a Bhaal temple that was then taken over by Cyric cultists.”

 

“C-Cat, I—”

 

“It turns out the high priestess kept one of the Bhaal followers alive,” Cat went on, delighting in the panic written on the fighter's face. “She told me many interesting things. Did you know that all the Bhaalspawn were meant to be sacrificed so our divine essence could later be used to resurrect our father?”

 

Khalid fell silent. He couldn't keep pretending he didn't know what Cat was talking about. The woman's smile fell into a frown, and she crossed her arms. It was time to get to the point.

 

“She said that a group of Harpers interrupted the ritual. One of them tried to convince one of the priestesses, a former lover of his, not to sacrifice her child. She was killed by an arrow to the throat.”

 

Khalid's eyes were brighter than usual, and they were lowered to the ground. He was unable to meet the mage's gaze.

 

“We c-couldn't let them complete the ritual,” he muttered. “We did what we had to…”

 

“Did you kill my mother?” Cat asked.

 

The man looked up to her, a single tear streaming down his cheek.

 

“Yes,” he let out with a sigh. “Gorion didn't want to, but it was necessary. She would have k-killed you, Cat.”

 

“Did you really do it for me? Or just to stop Bhaal's plans?”

 

The man appeared horrified by the question’s implication. His disposition looked almost convincing. Almost.

 

“Your mother would have had an innocent babe killed!”

 

“And I guess I owe my life to such compassion?” Cat scoffed. “I supose Gorion did not take my mother’s death well.”

 

“No. No, he didn’t,” Khalid replied, wiping off the welling tears off his eyes. “He was heartbroken… I don’t t-think he ever fully recovered. He really loved her, you know? T-that's why he took you in and—”

 

Khalid stopped talking in the moment he saw the change in Cat’s visage. Her eyes were narrowed and lost somewhere far from that room, with her eyebrows knitted together, her lips pursed into a thin line, her jaw clenched and tense, and her hands were beginning to tremble. He had seldom seen such fury in a person.

 

“I knew it,” she hissed, spitting each word like a curse. “I fucking knew it!”

 

She stood up, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Khalid slowly moved his hand, reaching for the hilt of his sword. When the witch opened her eyes, she showed her usual charming smile, as if nothing had transpired. The fighter saw that she took notice of his fighting stance, and relaxed.

 

“Thank you very much for this information,” she  told him, in a tone that Khalid would almost find sweet, had he not known better. “It has been really helpful. I won't entertain you any longer.”

 

As she stormed out of Khalid's quarters and the hallways of the fort, fighting back tears, there was one thought that occupied Cat’s mind, and one alone.

 

_Liar. Liar. LIAR._

 

Gorion never cared enough to tell her the truth. He had never trusted her, let alone loved her. No one had ever loved her. No one was likely to ever do it. Well then, if fear and loathing was all she could hope to get from the whole world, then she would give it actual reasons for harboring such feelings.

 

**_Kill them… Destroy them… Destroy everything…_ **

 

The quiet rumors nagging in the back of her head were getting stronger by the minute. That place was tainted with Bhaal's spirit, even a decade after his death. After all, that was where he fell. Cat could feel it from the moment she set foot in the area; her father’s whispers were becoming more and more insistent, and the rage he instilled in her was increasingly difficult to resist. And the revelations about the circumstances of her adoption did not help at all. Cradling her head in her hands, she leaned her weight on a wall, fearing for a moment that she would lose her balance. She took one, two, three deep breaths as she tried to clear her mind, just like she had done so many times before in order to cast spells. But it didn't work; his presence was still there, strong enough to make her sanity hang by a thin thread. Her companions were nearby; she was painfully aware of their stares. They were wondering what happened to her, and it would not take long for them to conclude that she was weak.

 

_I cannot lose my followers._

 

“I’m tired of this place,” she growled, turning from her group to hurry back to the outside, where the battle took place. She heard their prompt footsteps and felt relief. They still responded to her command.

 

At the outer walls, the archers kept trying to resist the Crusaders’ onslaught, firing their arrows down at their attackers. Khalid shouted orders at the soldiers as priests healed the injured. The sight made Cat's blood boil, and the whispers in her mind intensified. She needed to do something; anything, lest she gave in and killed the whole fort.

 

Before anyone could stop her, the witch cast a spell of protection against projectiles on herself and raced to the parapet wall. She propped herself up to face the attackers below. Arrows flew all around her, but she ignored them as her magic shield deflected them. When she spoke, her voice boomed and echoed through the whole area.

 

“Keep fighting as much as you wish, Crusaders, your end is near,” she bellowed, raising her arms as the night wind made her cape swirl around her. “Your Shining Lady will not save you. You will beg for death, and you will find it at MY HANDS after I show you the dread that awaits all those who dare to defy me!”

 

Energy shot through her fingers as she finished her speech. With a swift motion, she released it. The spell lit up the night sky for a moment as it tore through the air, and fell upon the crusaders, exploding into a fireball. Cat revelled in the screams and laughed as her enemies burned to death. Just like Sarevok had. Just like Caelar would.

 

The witch ignored the bewildered expressions of her companions and the uneasiness of the Bridgefort defenders, who looked almost as scared as if her speech had been directed at them. People stepped to the side to make way for her. Yes, that fear was what she craved from them. Rage kept scratching at her consciousness, poisoning her mind. She had thought that acting on her sudden bloodlust would calm her inner turmoil and quiet the voices in her head, but it only made it worse. Behind her, she heard Dorn's heavy footsteps. Perhaps it was the hyper awareness she was experiencing, or maybe it was just that she had become so intoxicated by the half-orc that she could recognize the slightest hints of his presence. A small figment of her consciousness knew that she should be alarmed by such a possibility, but right then she could barely think straight. He quickly caught up with her and strode down the fort hallways by her side.

 

“To what do we owe such a display?” He asked with genuine curiosity.

 

“Bhaal made me do it,” Cat grumbled. “This place reeks of him, it’s filled with his energy even after his death.”

 

“And it is feeding you?”

 

Cat chuckled at her companion's choice of words.

 

“More like 'eating me alive’, but I guess you could say that.”

 

“Well, then. What are you waiting for?” Dorn inquired, his voice full of excitement.

 

Cat blinked, perplexed by the blackguard's comment.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Claim that power,” Dorn continued. “Think of everything you could do with it!”

 

“Well, I would,” Cat explained, running a hand through her black curls, “weren't it for Bhaal trying to erase my consciousness even as we speak.”

 

“Fool!” Dorn exploded. “If you reject power for fear of losing control, then you do not deserve it to begin with!”

 

Cat stopped on her tracks and sent the blackguard the mother of all death glares as she tried with every fiber of her fading will to ignore the calling for blood, _his_ blood, inside her head.

 

“Power is _nothing_ without control,” she snarled. “If Bhaal takes over my mind, there will be nothing left of me! But what do you care, after all? It is only my power you follow, not me.” Cat felt something burning in her chest and her eyes. “You couldn't care less if anything were to happen to me, as long as there is a ready substitute to guide you in my place!”

 

Before he could reply, the witch rushed past the blackguard and stopped only a few steps before the circle of teleportation they had used to access the fortress.

 

“And just so you know,” she spat as she turned to face him one last time, “if he takes over, he will make me kill everybody here. That includes you.”

 

Waiting to hear no replies, she stepped through the portal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I really hope Cat wasn't too hammy in this one, and that you enjoyed the chapter. The romance will actually begin to take off -kind of, as Dorn's romance is quite slow in SoD- by the next chapter, so stay tuned for next week! And if you loved it or hated it or anything in between, please leave a comment and tell me so, any kind of feedback will be welcomed! See you, my darlings! <3


	4. The battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Flaming Fists join the Bridgefort defenders to attack the Crusader camp next to Boareskyr Bridge. Cat leads her group into battle, unaware of what will transpire once she crosses the bridge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome again to Strangeness and Charm - Siege of Dragonspear! Sorry I was a bit late to publish this chapter, I spent all of yesterday crippled by coffee-induced anxiety. Never again!  
> Anyway, this chapter covers the battle for the Bridgefort and the ensuing lovetalk with Dorn, which is technically the first we actually get. He's going to be veeeery hot and cold, because that's exactly how this romance happens in this game. Damnit, Dorn! I have also included what the dusty chicken from the camp can actually be used for...
> 
> Well, I have nothing much to say, so enjoy!

* * *

 

It was already midday when the Flaming Fist forces arrived at the crusader camp. Black clouds filled the sky, blocking the sun rays and obscuring the view. A column of Fists marched towards the fence, weapons unsheathed. A couple of the outside vigilants raced back in to inform of the attack, while the others raised their shields to try and resist the onslaught. It was to no avail, as arrows and swords quickly struck the scarce lot of them dead. The camp forces hurried to the entrance in order to block it, yielding spears to keep the enemies out. The Fists’ battle mages cast sleep spells on the front line defenders, who immediately collapsed. Taking advantage of the breach, the invading fighters rushed in, roaring their battle cries as they collided with the Crusaders. The battlefield became a cacophony of steel against steel and cries for either Baldur's Gate or the Shining Lady. Then came the metallic rattle of chains and the rumbling thud of the drawbridge. The Bridgefort defenders were out.

 

“It’s our turn,” Cat commanded, motioning her comrades to join the quarrel.

 

Baeloth concentrated, with the palms of his hands close together, yet never touching, as pure energy surged from them and his haste spell came in effect for the group. Viconia sent a prayer to her dark goddess in order to attain her holy power, and an aura that resembled a starless night enveloped her delicate figure, strengthening it greatly. Dorn murmured something unintelligible to his patron, and the serrated edge of his greatsword shone for a split-second with an ominous jade-green glow, turning poisonous. He then rushed into the camp with Viconia close on his heels. The remainder of the group followed, weapons and spells ready.

 

Chaos reigned behind the fence. Blood and corpses splattered the ground. A group of orc archers approached the group from the west, and human mercenaries came from the south. Cat nodded at her companions, and she and Baeloth prepared their spells while Dorn conjured an aura of despair and hacked his way to the north side, determined to draw the attention of the Bargheist. Behind him, Viconia swung her mace and cracked the skulls of all those who dared to face her. Cat and Baeloth finished their spells; a color spray and a sleep spell that made most of the contenders surrounding them fall unconscious. Edwin conjured three hobgoblins, two gnolls and a direwolf so Safana and the three magic wielders remained safe as they tried to further their advance to the north side of the camp, where the Bridgefort forces fought. Safana shot arrow after arrow at the crusaders that remained awake, trying to contain their offensive as Edwin’s convoked creatures clashed with them. A gnoll impaled an orc with his halberd, only to have a leg sliced off by a human fighter’s sword. The gnoll let out a beastly cry of pain as he fell.

 

The clatter of boots against the ground preceded the entry of more Flaming Fists who took on the crusaders at the south front. At the north, the Bridgefort defenders drove the crusaders south while the Fists who had entered first pushed north, trying to trap their enemies between both forces. Cat and her group joined the latter. The woman saw a group of veterans rushing in her direction, so she waved her hand and hissed a confusion spell. They stumbled about, some turning against one another, others trying to run away from the carnage that surrounded them. Baeloth recited the words of another enchantment, and he reached into the minds of all the enemies in his view, infusing hopelessness in them. The drow stopped for a moment to watch the warriors fall to their knees, crying in despair and calling for their mothers, and a sadistic grin spread through his sharp features.

 

Right in that moment Cat noticed Oloneiros’ pale gray tunic to the north west, and identified the hand gestures she was making.

 

“GET DOWN!” She shouted.

 

The witch threw herself to the ground, covering her ears and the back of her head with her hands, and she shut her eyes tight. With the speed that Baeloth had granted her, it all seemed to happen in slow motion, but it actually took less than a split second. The lighting bolt zoomed in their direction, shining white and blinding, claiming all those who were too slow to dodge it. Its victims stood for a moment, with frizzy hair and charred skin, before collapsing on the ground. The foul stench of burned flesh filled Cat’s nostrils. Fortunately, the bolt disappeared into thin air before it could bounce back. Cat quickly got back on her feet and searched around for her companions. Edwin was up, too, and he was conjuring more creatures for protection. Safana had a blistered burn in her left arm, her whole body was tense from the pain she was feeling. Fortunately, she was the only one from Cat's group who had been wounded by the spell. The rogue quaffed a healing potion as Baeloth kept instilling hopelessness in the approaching crusaders.

 

At the front, Viconia and Dorn smashed and slashed their way northwest, where they had spotted the Bhargeist. At last, they had drawn him out. Dorn sped up to catch him. Close behind, Viconia tried to keep up with his rushed pace when a veteran crusader intercepted her.

 

“Die, drow scum!” She cried out as she swung her sword.

 

Viconia flinched in pain when the blade cut through her thigh, but when the woman raised her sword again, uttering more slurs against the drow, she was ready. And furious. The fighter screamed when her femur was crushed by Viconia’s mace. No more words, though. Once the blunt weapon cracked open her skull, the crusader was finally quiet. However, the priestess had no time to bask in her accomplishment. Shaking blood and brain tissue off her mace, a fully healed Viconia ran after Dorn, cursing his quick pace. How someone so big managed to move so fast was a mystery to her. As she finally reached him, she caught a glimpse of the mage who had been so worried about finding Cat at the crusader camp. She was crafting a spell. A potentially fatal spell.

 

“Blackguard, watch out—”

 

A red glow enveloped everyone around Viconia, except for her. She had never felt so grateful about her natural magic resistance as she did in that precise moment. All around, veteran Flaming Fists began to make rookies’ mistakes in their fights, and Dorn's swings began to miss a lot more than usual. The drow turned around, searching for Cat in the back rows. If there was anyone able to fix the situation, it was another mage.

 

Cat recognized Oloneiros’ spell as a greater malison, an enchantment that manipulated the affected’s luck. Unless she was stopped, the blasted woman would wreak havoc amongst their ranks. So Cat ran, avoiding the swords and spears and axes, until she reached the front line. Corporal Duncan and Officer Corwin were fighting side by side, fending off a group of veterans that had been blessed by Reverend Brother Hormorn –who was hidden from view, probably by a sanctuary spell– and were causing trouble to the warriors who had been cursed by Oloneiros. Cat threw a bullet that killed off the dying lancer Corwin was fighting.

 

“Once I break through her protections, go for the mage!” Cat shouted, signaling the other woman, who was preparing a new spell, protected by a barrier against projectiles and safe from immediate harm.

 

Corwin nodded and roared a command to her subordinates. Cat mentally blocked the noises, the smell of sweat and blood, the vision of piled up corpses at her feet, and focused only on the mage who stood against her. Closing her eyes, she murmured the words and shot disruptive energy against her rival, who tried to push her away with her force of will. She wasn't bad. But Cat was better. Eventually, her mightier magic prevailed, and the breach spell broke and tore through all of the other woman’s protections.

 

“Now!” Cat yelled.

 

“Go!” Corwin commanded her troops, pointing at the now unprotected mage.

 

Arrows rained over Oloneiros, who had no other option but to retreat, wounded by the projectiles and chased by Corwin’s fighters. Cat took the chance to dispel and remove further spells she and Hormorn had cast. From the corner of her eye, she saw the Barghest, leading the march of his elite troops. They made eye contact, and he halted his forces. His full plate was stained with the blood and innards of those who had tried to fight him, and his looming figure towered over his allies. Now that she could take a closer look at him, she noticed that he was huge, bigger still than Dorn, and his snarling face showed that he was more than ready to continue massacring the Flaming Fists. Viconia and Dorn rushed to Cat’s side as she faced their foe. The blackguard glared at the women.

 

“This one is mine,” he growled. “I shall make his life an offering to Ur-Gothoz.”

 

“Who dares to defy me?” The Barghest all but roared at the trio.

 

“Hi, I’m Cat,” the witch responded, waving her hand and showing her best smile, completely unfazed by the menacing half-orc. She remembered something a fighter she once met, called Shar-Teel, told her; _If it bleeds, I can kill it._

 

The Barghest seemed more than pleased by the response.

 

“So it is you, the Bhaalspawn,” he rumbled, with a sadistic grin crossing his orcish features. “Your blood will make for an excellent gift for my Lady.”

 

“Damn, Caelar sure is into some strange stuff,” Cat sneered, discreetly looking behind the Barghest at the Bridgefort defenders who were fighting their way to the Fists’ position.

 

As she had predicted, her mockery easily provoked the half-orc’s anger, who bared his tusks at her, his jaw so clenched that Cat thought he might break his own teeth.

 

“No one insults the Shining Lady in my presence and lives!” The Barghest roared, drawing his axe and charging, his soldiers promptly following.

 

“I’ll carve you to bits!” Dorn howled, charging with Viconia at his side.

 

The fight that followed was surely the most vicious in the entire battle. Corwin and Duncan’s forces joined Dorn and Viconia against the Barghest’s crusaders. Safana, Baeloth and Edwin finally reached Cat, with the surviving hobgoblins Edwin had conjured. Cat signaled the leader of the camp, who had just stopped Dorn's swing with his shield and was trying to throw him off balance with his raw strength.

 

“Safana, we focus on the Barghest. He commands this whole camp. If we defeat him, the rest will surely disband.”

 

The rogue nodded and pulled an arrow of piercing from her quiver. Cat concentrated and sent a swarm of magic missiles against her opponent. In the meantime, Edwin drew his wand of fear, determined to put as many crusaders as possible under his spell. Baeloth joined him with fear spells, as he had run out of hopelessness enchantments. Safana missed her target by mere inches, but Cat’s missiles flew directly to their objective, tearing through armor and into vulnerable flesh. If there was one thing the woman loved about magic missiles was their reliability, even if they were rarely powerful enough to kill. The Barghest hissed in pain, and Dorn took the chance to sink his blade in the man’s left shoulder, revelling in his ache and his howls when he pulled the serrated edge out. With such a wound, he was barely able to raise his shield in time to stop the hit of Viconia's mace, and he lost ground. The Barghest’s pointed metallic boots slid across the ground, etching a deep line and raising a dust cloud all around the half-orc's feet. His blood mixed up with the earth he stood on, but he did not give up. With a tremendous slash of his axe, he tried to cut through Dorn's armor, denting his chest plate and prompting a grunt of pain from the blackguard.

 

Not too far behind, Edwin switched to another monster conjuring spell when he saw a couple crusader veterans unaffected by the fear charms nearing their rearguard group. Baeloth quickly recited another incantation to instill panic onto them, but Cat was too focused on invoking magic missiles to notice the danger until it was too late. A crusader lunged towards her with his long sword and slashed from the witch's left shoulder to her ribs. She felt a sharp pain that made her bend down, breathless. While she was incapacitated, the fighter took the chance to raise his weapon again, determined to put an end to the Bhaalspawn. Something, or _someone_ , pushed Cat, and suddenly she was rolling on the floor in a shambles of limbs, hair, dust and blood. A gloved hand took hers and swiftly pulled her up as if she were weightless. Dorn sported a deep gash behind his ear, where the sword aimed at Cat hit him.

 

“I do care,” he simply told her before sprinting back into battle, standing protectively between the fighter and the dumbfounded mage.

 

All around them, countless soldiers had succumbed to Edwin and Baeloth’s fear spells, but just as many had resisted and desperately fought the Flaming Fists. Cat thought she had just caught a glimpse of a teleporting spell. Had Hormorn fled the battlefield? It was hard to tell in the midst of the chaos that surrounded her; all she could do was swing her sling at the approaching crusaders, as she was almost out of magic. The movement alone was painful enough to make her grit her teeth with each swing.

 

The head of the crusader who had wounded her flew right by, tiny drops of blood staining Cat’s face as it passed. Scimitar in hand, Safana occupied Dorn's position as she threw a low kick at her new opponent and he gutted his way back to the front line, where a visibly battered Viconia tried to contain the Barghest's vicious blows. He stopped the half-orc's axe with his greatsword as he pushed Viconia off his path.

 

“Go heal Cat,” he grunted as he twisted his sword, trying to gain the upper hand.

 

The woman quickly nodded and made her way back, dodging the piles of corpses, ignoring the cries of the wounded that laid at her feet and macing those who tried to grab her. Faster than a sword spider, the priestess jumped to avoid a pool of blood where she could have easily slipped, and she finally arrived at the area where Cat stubbornly tried to stay on her feet, throwing bullets at the approaching crusaders and grimacing in pain at each movement she made. The witch was paler than usual, and the crimson ground beneath her revealed that she had lost much blood. Standing next to her, Viconia recited a prayer to her dark goddess and light glew on her extended palm. As it hovered Cat’s wounded side, the injury slowly closed and the hemorrhage stopped. The witch sighed with relief and nodded at Viconia in silent gratefulness. The priestess returned the nod and joined Safana in her attempt to push the enemy back.

 

At the front line, Dorn dealt blow after blow to the Barghest, who stopped each hit with either his shield or his axe, though not without difficulty. The blackguard had a cut on his temple that went all the way down his cheek and a gash on his left thigh, courtesy of the half-orc he was fighting. His opponent was stronger and more resilient than him, but he was faster, so he had managed to strike more times. The Barghest was bleeding from his shoulder cut, as well as from other injuries in the back of his elbow and his side, and his armor was even more dented than Dorn's. The wounds slowed him down significantly, so it was much harder for him to stop or avoid Dorn's swings. In a desperate attempt to evade him, the Barghest threw his shield at the blackguard. With the broad, vertical strike he was going for, Dorn was unable to dodge it. The shield hit his head hard, and he fell to the ground. The Barghest lurched against him, sure to have victory at his fingertips. Axe hit greatsword, and the Barghest pressed against Dorn to overpower him, slowly gaining ground. In doing so, he stretched over the blackguard, exposing his injured side. Gritting his teeth from the effort of holding back his enemy's attack, Dorn kicked the warrior's side, making him jolt back and howl in pain as he fell on his knees. Taking advantage of his greater speed, the blackguard jumped to his feet and dug his greatsword in the Barghest's visage, finally killing him.

 

All around him, the crusaders began to panic and retreat. He was about to chase after them when voice called his name. He turned to see Cat and their companions rushing to his side.

 

“They are trying to blow up the bridge,” Cat told him, breathless. “We have to stop them!”

 

Together, the six companions raced to thwart the crusaders’ plans of destroying their only hope for reaching Dragonspear Castle on time. The enemy mage put up a decent fight and was hard to target due to the invisibility spells she used, but in the end she was no match for Cat. With a triumphant roar, she claimed the bridge and led the army to their next stop, unaware of what would happen in a few moments, when she passed the exact spot where Bhaal drew his last breath...

* * *

Not far beyond Boareskyr Bridge, grass began to grow and a forest stood tall, though not too thick. _Curses._ Scarce as it was, it would make their already slow advance still more sluggish, as there was no clear path for the army to march through. Cat pressed on, determined to reach the coalition camp as soon as possible. If the Flaming Fists with their colossal standards and their heavy chain mails could not keep up with her, then so be it. It was not her problem.

 

Her breath was still short from the battle and the later vision of her father's death. The blasted hooded man kept mocking her and taunting her with his cryptic words. Only one thing was for sure; he knew much about Bhaal, and it was probably in her best interests to gain such knowledge. Of course, she did not trust him, but with Sarevok dead, she didn't really have many other options for getting to know more about her divine heritage and her potential. No, she didn't want to think of it just then; it was better to celebrate their triumph. It had been a glorious battle, for sure, but it would have been better yet if she hadn't been so close to death. It wasn't her first experience of the such, but the shakiness it left in her irked her. She did not fear death… but she didn't want to die. Not so soon. Not when there was so much for her to do.

 

It was close to sundown when they reached the end of the forest and found the main pathway to the coalition camp again. There was still more than a tenday march ahead, but Cat judged it best to keep going for as long as her companions were willing to. In the meantime, she would revel in the feeling of the sweet grass under her boots. She felt tempted to ditch her shoes and walk barefoot, like she loved to do when she was a child. However, she was a grown woman now; she knew better than to indulge in childish behavior… more or less.

 

A few feet ahead, the witch made out a stone well. Curious, she approached it, ignoring Edwin's protests about her irritable tendency to waste time. She took a peak at the structure, trying to determine its depth, but it was too dark to tell. She took a stone from the floor, threw it inside, and waited. No sound came of it.

 

“A wishing well!” She gasped in astonishment. “I read about them in Candlekeep, but I thought they were just tales for children!”

 

“And they are,” Edwin groaned, his palm on his lowered forehead. “Are you really _that_ delusional?”

 

“Watch and learn, you killjoy,” Cat replied, throwing one hundred gold pieces into the well as Edwin screamed and Viconia groaned and rolled her eyes.

 

Just then, the six companions felt a warm sensation inside them, spreading from head to toe. Their bodies glowed, and all the wounds they had received during the battle disappeared completely, not even leaving scars. Edwin stared at Cat's smug expression in bewilderment. How could it be?

 

A cuckling sound made the witch turn her head. The chicken which had been following her from the crusader camp was still there, somehow unscathed from the battle. With an evil grin, she took the trusting avian into her arms and placed it in the well bucket.

 

“Is anybody hungry?”

* * *

After a satiating meal consisting of magically roasted chicken, Cat commanded her followers to move again. She kept a quick pace, impatient as she was to reach their destination. A few steps ahead, Dorn strode down the path, his head up high and the Barghest's in his fist, hanging by the hair and dangling from side to side when the blackguard moved, blood clotting all over its disfigured features. He had requested Cat to let him bring that battle trophy to the coalition camp, and the prospect of displaying their enemy's head for the posh Waterdhavians to see was much too hilarious for her to say no. Besides, that little bloody gesture seemed to make Dorn quite happy. It couldn't hurt to keep her companions satisfied, right? Besides, there was the issue of what had transpired at the Bridgefort and during the battle. She had accused him of not caring whether she lived or died, and he proved her wrong, not with his words, but with his actions, those he once said were the only reliable way to get to know whether someone could be trusted. The thought of owing him an apology, however, was a bitter pill to swallow for the proud witch. So doing little gestures for him, little enough not to be considered apologies, was easier.

 

As if he noticed that she was thinking of him –much to Cat's panic–, Dorn turned his gaze to her and grunted in satisfaction. He seemed to be in a great mood that day. His _damned_ smile was very, very hard for Cat to ignore. _Relax, you idiot._

 

“That was a good battle. I am pleased.”

 

“It was,” Cat nodded in agreement. “And we finally got out of that blasted bridge. Had I kept hearing my father in my head for longer, I would have surely exploded. Perhaps literally.”

 

“Hrmm.”

 

Cat raised an eyebrow as she tried in vain to decipher the blackguard's expression. It was rare for him to hesitate to speak, or fall silent so suddenly in the middle of conversation. The half-orc exhaled loudly, his jaw clenched in tension, as it happened in the very scarce occasions when there was something that was hard for him to say.

 

“I should not have pushed you when Bhaal's influence was clouding your mind,” he finally said.

 

Cat huffed, genuinely surprised.

 

“Well, since you are somehow willing to admit that you were wrong, I guess I should do the same,” she sighed, smiling apologetically. “Sorry for what I said back at the Bridgefort. I think you must be one of the two or three people who actually give a damn about me.”

 

The pair stayed silent for a while, walking side by side. The only sounds were the group's footsteps under the gravel and the occasional howl of a wolf far away. Dorn looked around, lost in thought, and stretched his arms with a groan. He seemed rather fond of the outside.

 

“It is good to be out of that accursed cage,” he said as he reached for his back with his free hand. “I’ve a knot in my back I’ll feel for weeks.”

 

Cat took a bit to respond, mesmerized as she was by the way the half-orc flexed his powerful muscles. She bit her lip at the sight, painfully aware of the kind of thoughts the man stirred in her. Was it the high of the battle, maybe? Or was she just that far gone?

 

_Alright, be civilized, Cat. Get your mind out of the gutter, don’t make this into something dirty._

 

“A back rub would do wonders for you,” she half-joked.

 

_Shit._

 

Dorn’s face twisted in annoyance.

 

“I am not some child to be coddled,” he grumbled, narrowing his eyes.

 

“That's not what I meant,” Cat replied before she could stop herself. She knew the path she was following wasn't wise and that she would later regret it, but her cursed tongue worked much faster than her brain.

 

“Then what did you mean?”

 

_Ahhh, fuck it. It’s too late to back down anyway._

 

“You. And I. Together. Alone. Massage,” she purred, inching closer to him with each word and giving him her most irresistible smile.

 

To her own credit, Dorn looked quite shocked. He had stopped walking and was staring at the woman wide-eyed. When Edwin passed them by, he snickered and muttered a rather distasteful comment about the pair. Had he eavesdropped on their conversation? Dorn glared at the Red Wizard, who quickly got out of his reach.

 

“This is neither the time nor the place,” the blackguard growled.

 

Cat felt slightly disappointed, though she did her best not to show. The feeling didn't last much, for Dorn was quick to speak again.

 

“Later, perhaps.”

 

_What!?_

 

“Lead on and I will follow you into battle,” he continued, unaware that the woman was holding her breath. “Take care to bring me to your enemies soon, that I may sate my bloodlust.”

 

Cat decided it was probably better to compose herself as soon as possible. She resumed her walk, with the half-orc by her side, a lot closer than it was comfortable for her in that precise moment.

 

“Of course. It might take a while, so in the meantime, let me tell you about some of my latest deeds. You missed out a lot while you were away.”

 

“Is that so?” The half-orc huffed.

 

“I even slayed a dragon!”

 

“A dragon? Tell me more!”

 

As they conversed, the uneasiness Cat had felt in the beginning returned to her. She never really expected Dorn to respond favorably to her… advances? Her teasing? She didn't even know what she was doing anymore, or what she was getting herself into, but it was not good. The fact that she actually wanted to follow through her earlier suggestion showed that it was more than just another of her usual flirty games. The other few times things escalated so much with someone else, she ended up shamed and heartbroken. She could not afford the disturbingly high amount of trust she had already put in Dorn to be broken just because she could not keep her stupid mouth shut. However, she could not help that strange, fierce feeling in her chest whenever she did so much as looking at him. It was then that it dawned on her that trying to resist the desire she felt, even if it was the wisest course of action, was very possibly futile.

 

 _Stupid,_ she thought. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you liked this chapter. That was a long ass battle! I am not too good at it, so any feedback to help me improve would be extremely welcomed. Well, actually, I always feel grateful for whatever feedback I can get, so don't be shy, my darlings!
> 
> Next chapters will be more romance-heavy, so stay tuned for next week! See you!


	5. Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While on their way to Dragonspear Castle, Cat and Dorn share some words about their recent choices, learning more about each other, and the witch begins to see her growing relationship with the blackguard in a new light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! I'm so happy! I really hope you enjoy it a lot. This one will be a lot heavier in romance and tension than all the former, and things will begin to escalate from here, so I really hope you find it satisfying. This is another of Dorn's in-game dialogues, though it does include some little additions of my own, as well as a bit of his POV, which will be visually divided from Cat's so it's not confusing to read. Enjoy!

* * *

 

The Dead Man’s Pass had a way of living up to its name. Seeming less designed for people than for goats, it traversed a rocky hill with endless twists and turns, and there were instances when the path grew so narrow and steep that the group had to climb their way through in a single line to avoid falling down the cliff and to their deaths. It was a laborious task, even for agile Safana, who was in turn rather relieved by the lack of cobweb traps in the area, as phase spiders had decided that those sheer rocks were a good enough place to build their nests. However, their presence slowed down their advance, so when they finally crossed the rocky pass and arrived at the lush forest where the path turned west, the sun was already beginning to set, hidden behind storm clouds that darkened the place almost completely. Still, the adventurers’ spirits were generally high after their brief time at the coalition camp, so they were more than able to keep going. Cat had bribed some money out of a Bridgefort defender in exchange for his dead sister’s necklace, and then she scammed Neera the wild mage into paying twenty gold pieces for some stinky turnip juice. Not to mention Baeloth’s genius idea of charging the soldiers for the privilege of laying eyes on the famed and fearsome Cat the Bhaalspawn, or the bloodshed and potions that not so discreetly slaying the insufferable Pritchard Gardnersonson had granted them. It had been a rather profitable day.

 

After wandering a little farther north into the forest and farther still from the rocks, the group found an small abandoned camp in a clearing, consisting of a ragged, dirty tent supported by weak wooden sticks, and a pile of leaves and firewood that conformed a fire pit which had been long extinguished. Not too far, the still quite fresh corpse of a woman laid on the grass, a bloody pulp where her head should have been. She wore mage robes, which prompted Cat to examine her backpack. With a triumphant smile, the witch retrieved three spell scrolls.

 

“Hey!” Edwin protested. “Stop snatching all of those for yourself, you greedy pig!”

 

Cat gleefully began to copy one of the spells in her oversized book, paying no heed to the conjurer's insult.

 

“The other scrolls are yours. You know I share what I find,” she hummed as she delicately brushed her striking peacock quill against the parchment.

 

“And you keep the best to yourself!” Edwin exclaimed, indignant.

 

“Perks of being the leader, Edwin,” the woman chuckled, contemplating her finished work with pride. “Besides, I think I am better equipped for a sunfire spell than you are, don’t you think?”

 

Through gritted teeth, Edwin muttered something about regretting ever gifting the witch his Robe of Red Flames. Cat snorted and closed her spellbook, eager to try her brand new explosive trick. Rain began to fall in thin drops, so she was quick to put the remaining scrolls in her hard leather cylindrical case. As she got up from her seating spot, intent on continuing their scouting before getting soaked, she heard Dorn's frustrated huffs. Their trekking had been far too bloodless for the blackguard after more than a tenday of wandering towards the coalition camp. He had also been on edge since the group's arrival to the place, threatening to gut anyone who tried to do so much as laying a finger on him… or Cat. During their time at the camp, he never left the woman's side, glaring at anyone who dissed her or scowled by her passing. Even though she was one of the least people who needed it, she could not help but feel slightly amused by his shows of protectiveness.

 

“This is pointless. We would be much faster and more effective in smaller groups,” he complained, standing beside her. Of course, marching with the Flaming Fist army significantly slowed their advancement towards Dragonspear Castle. Cat was utterly annoyed by it, too.

 

“Agreed. When the time comes, we’ll be leaving these fools in the dust and doing things properly.”

 

“Good. I am glad to see you still have a head on your shoulders,” he replied, nodding approvingly. “The best course of action would be to abandon this foolishness and let the peasants squabble amongst themselves. Clearly, however, you have made up your mind to see this through.”

*~*~*

 

Dorn did not expect the mage to laugh at his comment. It would have immediately angered him, weren't it for the oddly pleasant musicality of her voice and the fact that she never actually laughed at him, but rather, her twisted witching mind found something amusing in his words.

 

“Well, that much is true, but what can I say?” She shrugged, grinning maliciously. “This war game is far too entertaining. And I’d really love it if I could make the angelical Caelar burst with hellish fury.”

 

So that was it. She enjoyed corrupting the righteous and provoking her foes in order to cloud their thoughts with anger. Her intelligence was one of her best assets, even if it made her waste too much time playing with her victims… just like a cat with its prey. Dorn huffed and shook his head, trying to ignore the way her already damp locks clung to her face and descended upon her cleavage like black tendrils. It was already pouring.

 

“There are –occasionally– times I envy your freedom, Cat.”

 

The woman blinked in surprise.

 

“Why do you say that?”

 

“You fight for your own banner,” Dorn explained, his intense gaze fixed in her  _ very  _ green eyes. “You choose your targets, your causes, your campaigns.”

 

“And you serve at the whim of Ur-Gothoz.”

 

It was a low blow. Then again, she had never been one to filter her words; with him, she was honest to a fault.

 

“In a sense, yes,” Dorn admitted, averting his eyes as he remembered her reaction when he was forced to leave her side. “In another sense, I have chosen to serve. It was my decision to tether myself to my master.”

 

The witch narrowed her eyes.

 

“Was it really, though? Or were you powerless to make another choice?”

 

That really did sting. Dorn closed his fists and gritted his teeth, feeling anger rising in his chest, but she did not recoil. She never did. It was something that set her apart from everyone else he had met. Quite admirable, as tiny as she was, even by human accounts.

 

“I am far from powerless,” he growled. “But power is not freedom.”

 

“Indeed it’s not,” she whispered. Her eyes flickered with an emotion that Dorn could not make out. Perhaps pitty, perhaps worry? Whatever it was, she did not act on it, choosing to walk away and leave the blackguard to his thoughts.

* * *

Cat heard the group walking close behind her. She knew that voicing her thoughts about Ur-Gothoz’ sway over Dorn would get her nowhere, but still, she could not shake the frustration that the half-orc's situation made her feel. He deserved better than a life of slavery, no matter how powerful it made him. How to make him understand, though? As he pointed out himself, agreeing to the contract had been his choice, and it was him who should make the decision of breaking it, if he even wanted to, to begin with. Quick on his feet, the man caught up with Cat's rapid pace and strode by her side. She glanced up at him, curious about what he had to say. Rain drops trickled down his face, but he did not seem to be bothered by them.

 

_He really is handsome,_ she thought, admiring his square jaw, his dark hooded eyes, his _oh so_ _sharp_ tusks...

 

“This talk of freedom and choices raises a question in my mind,” he said, interrupting Cat’s quickly straying thoughts.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Is there one among our group you consider a potential mate?” He asked, turning to face the woman. “I wish to know where your loyalties are.”

 

Cat almost froze. Why in the nine hells would he ask something like that? Could it be that his interest in her went beyond an erotic massage? Where did that leave their current relationship? Nothing had actually transpired between them so far, perhaps he actually did only mean to find out whether she was tied to someone… but if he did, then why did he accept her earlier offer? He  _ had  _ to feel interested in her, at least to some degree, right?

 

Fully aware that it was the least advisable course of action, Cat flashed a bright smile at the blackguard, inching the tiniest bit closer to him.

 

“I actually find you quite intriguing, Dorn,” she whispered, eyes half-lidded and fixed in his as she played with a strand of her hair.

 

Her reply seemed to have taken him aback. For a small while, he did not respond, staring at the woman as if weighing her barely veiled suggestion. Then, he shook his head, groaning.

 

“Don’t be a fool,” he chastised her in the same tone a parent would use to address a dim-witted child. “We are at war and I am not some simpering barmaid to be wooed.”

 

Cat raised an eyebrow. What was with that reaction? Was his head so up in his arse that he could not overcome his pride and admit what he wanted? Because if he didn't desire her, he surely would not have reacted the way he did when she teased him, he would not have let his eyes wander her figure whenever she was close ever since that conversation happened. His unpredictable attitude and his mood shifts, always hot and cold and never truly consistent, were beginning to get on the woman's nerves. No, she would  _ not  _ let that one slide. Pointing her chin up in pride, she shot him a snide grin.

 

“Well, your loss then,” she replied in a sing-song voice. “But just so you know, I have wooed barmaids who were far less shy than you.”

 

“I am not shy!” Dorn exclaimed, indignant.

 

“Prove it,” Cat defied him with an ear to ear grin. Oh, it was way too fun to tease him.

 

Growling, Dorn yanked her arm and pulled her so close that she collided with the metal of his armor, yelping in shock. With his free hand, he took a fistful of her hair and pulled so she would be looking at him. Then, he leaned into her ear.

 

“In private,” he grunted, his warm breath tickling Cat’s ear and making her shudder.

 

Before any of the others reached them and saw whatever it was that was going on, Dorn let her go and quickened his pace further. Cat took a few seconds to register what just happened and to try and regain her breath. She felt her heart about to explode. Mechanically, her body began to somewhat respond to her will, and soon she was back at her usual position at the rearguard, with Edwin and Baeloth, who were in the middle of a rather heated argument about who knows what. Cat couldn't care less at that point. How was she supposed to think straight after  _ that? _

 

“Damnit,” she muttered under her breath, cursing the very heated mental images of Dorn and herself that quickly began to flood her mind. “Stupid, sexy blackguard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think? Please do tell me, I would like to know if there's anything that needs more work, and also what it is that you like the most! Each and every one of you people who take the time to read, leave kudos and comment make my day, I honestly could not keep doing this without you, my darlings! <3 <3 <3 See you next week!


	6. Dead places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cat and her companions stumble on a dead magic zone... and an ambush. How will a group mainly composed of spell casters fare in a place where magic doesn't work at all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of a curious chapter. It all began with the not-so-random encounter at the accursed dead magic zone, where I basically had to run away to save my ass. Then, at Bloodbark Grove, Dorn chose that precise moment to make a comment on the party's reputation. In this game, he says that things could be a great deal worse, and though I know the timing of these comments is random I couldn't help but finding it kind of funny that he would say that after such a humilliating defeat... Perhaps he was just trying to cheer up my poor Bhaalspawn who barely made it out of there alive?
> 
> Anyway, that is how this chapter came to be. I hope you enjoy it. Also, the description of the dead magic zone and what it does is completely non-canon; I like the concept of magic as something more than just a foreign force, but rather, an essential part of the world that makes it function properly, so I wanted to reflect that. 
> 
> Now, after this long ass explanation, I really hope you like this new chapter.

* * *

 

Cat knew something was wrong in the moment she set foot in that place. Despite being outdoors, the air felt stale and heavy, and though it was still midday, everything was devoid of color, even more so than during dusk. She checked the map the Dukes had granted her; it was, indeed, the passage along the valley that would lead them to Bloodbark Grove, the quickest path to the underground entrance to Dragonspear Castle. However, the map gave no indication of its desolated state. Not a single plant grew on that barren ground, not a single animal could be spotted. Cat felt her will and drive leaving her, and a quick inspection confirmed that her companions were feeling the same. It wasn't quite the same effect as the energy draining spell Vichand had cast on them at Bridgefort, but it did bring forth a feeling of loss, of emptiness, like something important had been torn from them. Like the whole world had lost the spark that kept it alive.

 

Spark…

 

_A dead magic zone. Fuck._

 

Edwin was quicker than ever to voice his displeasure.

 

“Why have you brought us to this place, you insufferable monkey?” He exploded. “Have you perhaps failed to perceive that it has been completely devoid of magical energy? (Why do I even bother with these fools?)”

 

“Oh, shut up! It wasn’t marked in the map, it was probably drawn before the Time of Troubles,” Cat retorted.

 

“And you didn't notice something was amiss before we got our heads in this disgusting place?” Edwin raged on, gesturing wildly with his hands covered in rings.

 

“If I had, I would have never brought us here to begin with, you idiot!” Cat exclaimed, mirroring Edwin's anger. “I only noticed it now, just like you!”

 

“How dare you—”

 

“Hey, lovebirds,” Safana drawled, nocking one of her new enchanted arrows. “We’ve got company.”

 

They were still far away, but Cat could quickly make out their silhouettes. There were five of them, armed to the teeth, with their weapons ready. One of them was almost indistinguishable, a creature cloaked in shadows, and in the moment it made eye contact with Cat, it pointed in her direction and vanished into thin air.

 

The mysterious group started to move in Cat and her companions’ direction, weapons in hand. They wore no batches or uniforms; just chain mails or leather armors, which meant they were mercenaries. Anywhere else, just a couple fireballs would have been enough to finish them, but magic wouldn't help them now. Luckily, Safana carried some explosive concoctions that she did not hesitate to use. First, she threw an oil of fiery burning that managed to halt the mercenaries’ advance while the remainder of the group shot their projectiles of choice at them. Cat tried in vain to reach the shadowy figure, but it disappeared again, so she aimed at a warrior who carried two axes. An arrow zoomed and brushed her ear; she felt a flash of pain in the area and accidentally dropped her magic sling to clutch her wound, grimacing. The world became a blur, and her breathing came short. She quickly sorted through her backpack to retrieve an antidote that she swallowed eagerly.

 

In the meantime, Safana threw a potion of explosions. Fire consumed their enemies and burned through their clothes and skin as they wailed in pain and flailed around, trying to put out the flames. She took the opportunity to use another, and saw that two of the mercenaries sported deep burns that blackened their faces, exposing muscle tissue underneath the scorched skin. The stench of charred flesh invaded the rogue’s nostrils, making her cough and crinkle her nose in disgust.

 

And yet, they kept on moving, closer and closer. Safana readied one of her newest enchanted arrows and tensed her bow.

 

“Our turn,” Dorn roared as he unsheathed his greatsword and gestured Viconia to follow him.

 

The priestess drew her mace and shield and raced to clash with her opponents, the blackguard right by her side as they tried to still their advance and prevent them from reaching the more vulnerable members of the group. They spinned and twisted and hammered and slashed, having already learned to coordinate their moves in melee combat, and she striked a foe… only to find that her hit had almost no effect at all against the chain mail of the warrior she was facing. Of course, she had forgotten that she could not call on Shar’s divine power in that accursed dead magic zone. Without it, she was not stronger than Cat or Edwin. Gasping, she raised her shield to protect herself from the brutal impact of the man’s axes. He hit with enough force to push her back a whole foot, though she managed to keep her balance. Then, another fighter emerged from her side, downing her sword over the drow’s head. The weapon stopped its advance right at Viconia’s nose, a few inches from cutting through her face, and the woman fell to the ground, unconscious. A pink bullet rolled to Viconia’s feet, stained crimson with the warrior’s blood. She turned and saw Cat, bleeding from her ear but smiling triumphantly with her sling in her hand as she winked an eye at the priestess. Snorting, Viconia began to turn to face her enemies when she saw a blade suddenly coming to view and tearing through Cat’s flesh at her left shoulder. The shadowy figure retrieved its sword as Cat fell to the ground, and left to fetch its next prey.

 

Spitting out her own blood, Cat fell on her knees, pain exploding from her shoulder and causing her sight to darken as bright spots appeared at the corners of her vision. She heard a buzzing noise in her ears that ate away most of the other sounds. Panting, she stumbled back to her feet, drawing sharp breaths every time she moved her left arm, and she saw her attacker, its sword stained with her blood, as it approached Edwin and Baeloth. They had both run out of throwing daggers and darts, and could only defend themselves with dagger and quarterstaff. She had to help them.

 

Hands trembling, Cat retrieved her sling, placed a magical bullet on it –fortunately, their enhancing enchantments had not been drained by the deserted valley– and spun it with her good arm. It was certainly a bad time to be left-handed. She felt terribly weak, as if the impact of the sword had somehow drained her physical strength. The shade turned to face her, its facial features unrecognizable safe for a sadistic grin, and disappeared just as Cat’s bullet flew in its direction. A miss.

 

_Shit!_

 

Edwin screamed as the blade sliced through his chest. Baeloth swung his quarterstaff in the direction of the sword, but the aggressor had gone invisible once more, quicker than lightning. Safana spun around and put on the spectacles of Spectacle Cat had gifted her after completing her vision quest. She tried to take notice of the shadow, but was unable to make out anything. An arrow passing her by and missing her by mere inches got her focus back on the mercenaries, and she nocked an arrow of her own and marked her next target. She was very nearly out of ammunition.

 

Dorn took some steps back as he tried to reach the mages and the sorcerer before the shadow managed to kill them. He and Viconia fended off the mercenaries the best they could, but they were quickly losing ground. With a howl, he swung his blade, cutting through a fighter’s leather armor and flesh as if it were butter. When he pulled back the blade, the dead man’s blood and innards sprayed all over his armor. Right then, the axe wielder charged at him, screaming in berserker rage as Dorn stopped his vicious hit by tilting his sword and raising it to meet the axes, the tip pointing to his left as the flat side faced his opponent. Had the weapon not been enchanted, it would have surely been broken by the onslaught. With a brutal push, he managed to rid himself of the berserker, who stumbled back and tripped over his feet.

 

Right then, the shadow caught the blackguard’s eye. It had appeared again. Safana was shooting at the archers while Viconia exchanged blows with the woman Cat had knocked down before, who was now awake and moving again. The Bhaalspawn shot a bullet at the shadow, but her wounds slowed her down enough for the fiend to become invisible once more before being hit. Cat had trouble breathing, and her face was ghostly pale. Growling, Dorn pressed on and raced towards the three magic users, who were huddled together back to back, looking around for any signs of the shadow’s presence. With a quick leap, the blackguard pushed Cat away from her attacker. Sharp pain shot through his side, where the shade’s blade impacted, and he felt part of his might leaving him, rendering him weaker than he should be. A strength draining sword!

 

Cat bit back a curse. Again, Dorn had saved her life, and this time it came with a cost. A few steps ahead from them, Safana limped from a wound on her thigh as she tried to fight off a nearby enemy with her scimitar. Viconia bled profusely from a deep cut caused by the berserker’s axe, which had managed to break through her chain mail. And the shadow came and went, forcing Dorn to defend himself, rather than attacking.

 

 _We are losing,_ Cat realized, eyeing the blackguard as he struggled to stop the shadow’s rapid blows with his diminished strength.

 

“We have to retreat,” she shouted. “Now!”

 

Nobody needed to be told twice. Hastened by the magic properties of her bow despite the bolt that was sunk on her thigh, Safana managed to run past their ambushers, making way for the others to follow. Cat tried to aid Baeloth in carrying Edwin, but as the wounded mage leaned his weight on her shoulders, she bent down in pain, hissing at the sensation.

 

“Viconia!” She called, her voice dry.

 

The priestess stopped mid-sprint and returned to their side, huffing.

 

“ _Vith_! One of these days you are all going to get me killed!” She grumbled as she slid Edwin’s arm over her shoulders.

 

“ _Dalninil_ dearest, I would fancy our fiery Edwin to live this one down,” Baeloth shot back.

 

Viconia muttered something in drow as they left. Cat saw Dorn, still fighting the shadow and the nearing mercenaries.

 

“Leave now!” He shouted at her as he dodged an axe. “I will hold them off and follow—Argh!”

 

An arrow impacted on the joint of his elbow. The archers then dropped their bows and took out short swords as they surrounded the half-orc. _Like hell I’m going to leave now._

 

Cat fired a bullet, hitting the berserker as he was about to deal Dorn a killing –or at the very least maiming– blow with his axe. The blackguard took advantage of the distraction to lounge his sword on the man’s abdomen and then kick him to remove the weapon from his insides. Shoving another mercenary off his way, he sprinted in Cat's direction. She tried to keep up with him, but another arrow reached her back, making her trip… Yet before she hit the ground, a pair of strong arms lifted her as if she were weightless.

 

“You’d best hold on tight,” Dorn growled at her as he sprinted out of the arrows’ reach, flinching when one of them impacted on his heel. However, the mercenaries were wounded from the group’s attacks and Safana’s fire potions, and two of them had fallen, so they didn't follow the pair for long. The shadow stood there, watching them go, its ghostly features unfathomable and its expression unreadable.

 

* * *

After what felt like an eternity of stumbling and dragging the wounded across that lifeless valley, they finally caught sight of the mountain range that marked the entrance to Bloodbark Grove. The passage cut through two twin hills, and as soon as they reached it, everything sprout back to life. Small plants and grass began to fill the ground, giving way to bushes and trees. The birds' last songs of the day soon greeted the exhausted adventurers. Even the distant howl of a wolf was a welcoming sound at that point. The air recovered its normal qualities, and the heavy feeling in the companions’ hearts soon became nothing but a bitter memory. The pathway was narrow and steep, full of rocks covered in moss. It was not easily accessible, so Cat decided to set camp in a particularly secluded spot among bigger boulders that hid them from view. With her recovered magic, she didn’t have much trouble lighting up a fire for her companions to warm themselves up with. Once they settled in, Viconia began a thorough healing job, first closing her own wounds and then moving on to patch up her associates, ignoring their constant protests and whining. Edwin muttered about Cat’s lack of intelligence for dragging the group into that awful place, making Baeloth chuckle; Safana complained about her limp, stating that she was walking like an old hag; and Dorn refused to acknowledge his deep, grave wounds.

 

“Save your spells for someone who needs them, Sharran,” he spat.

 

“Fine, I will leave you to bleed out and die, I could not care any less,” Viconia retorted as she moved on to heal Cat, who was sulking next to the fire.

 

“Don’t listen to him and heal his wounds,” the mage drawled, not taking her eyes off the flames for a single moment.

 

Viconia smirked as she returned to Dorn’s sitting spot.

 

“Sorry, Dorn, but orders are orders.”

 

The half-orc glared at the drow as her divine light tingled on his skin, stopping his bleeding and dwarfing the size of his injuries. Bearing scars was a sign of strength in his old tribe, and though it had long been slaughtered, he carried on that belief, as scars were markings of survival. He did not understand why Cat was so adamant about keeping her skin free of those. Perhaps it was a mage thing. Or perhaps she was just that vain.

 

Dorn watched closely as Viconia moved on to heal Cat. The witch did not utter a word during the process; her eyes were fixed in the fire and she hugged her knees with her arms, head bowed in what looked a lot like shame and anger. When the priestess finished her work and continued to aid her other companions, he took a sit beside the mage and gazed at the fire with her.

 

“You find it beautiful, aye?”

 

Cat lowered her head further and rested her chin in between her knees, glaring at the fire pit.

 

“I find it _useful._ Had we been in a place where the rules of nature worked the way they are supposed to, a place _with_ magic, those bastards would all be rotting by now. Shadow fucker included.”

 

“Hrmm. I must admit that the valley was most disagreeable, even for someone like me, who does not rely on magic,” Dorn mused, his eyes lost in the fire.

 

“It was unnatural! Magic is an essential part of the world we live in,” Cat exploded, rising from her curled position and gesturing wildly. “It is almost literally the wheel that keeps it in motion, the energy that keeps it alive. That valley was _wrong,_ it was… dead.” She sighed and hugged her knees again. “And I led us right into it.”

 

“I dislike running away,” he replied with a huff, fixing his gaze on her scowl as she turned her attention back to the fire, “but I think it foolish to die for nothing when you have higher goals to achieve. It is best to survive and become stronger, that you may fight another day.”

 

Cat tore her eyes away from the pit to look at him. The reflected flames danced on her irises in a stark contrast with the emerald green, though it was not unbecoming. Flare suited her. Even in her current bitter mood, there was a fierceness to her, as if she were silently defying the whole world to question her for her mistakes. Back at the dead magic zone, she fought like a lioness despite lacking magic and thus being unable to cause much damage, and she did not hold back until the whole group had moved past the mercenaries. Dorn could not help but remember how Simmeon would leave anyone and everyone behind to save his own arse whenever they got into a sticky situation. Looking back, he really should have seen his betrayal coming. The half-orc himself had probably not been the last one to get fooled by the deceased blackguard in such a way. Cat, on the other hand, was much smaller and physically weaker than Simmeon, practically useless without her magic when devoid of other devices like wands and scrolls, just like the group was during that encounter, and yet she refused to abandon him.

 

He was taken aback when the woman smiled at him. There it was again, the fire inside her burning brighter than any Dorn had seen before. It was appealing, _distracting._

 

Not a good thing.

 

“I guess things could be worse after all, huh?” Cat said then, tilting her head to the side as she locked eyes with Dorn. With that gesture, he could see just how long and delicate her neck was. He could probably snap it with just one hand. And yet, she had managed to instill panic in _three_ whole armies, to the point that she was not welcomed at the coalition camp.

 

To his chagrin, Dorn found himself smiling back at the witch. The damned woman had a bigger effect on him than he could care to admit. It was hard to keep the necessary distance and not become distracted by her flirty attitude and her undeniable beauty, not to mention the scent of the rose perfume she always wore, now combined with the smell of the blood splattered on her robe, forming an unique blend that drove him _wild_. She had already managed to take permanent residence in his dreams and fantasies, something he hadn’t allowed himself to indulge in for a very long time, since Kryll betrayed him. And her influence on him was becoming greater and greater.

 

It was no good at all.

 

Cat’s smirk amplified when he scooted closer to her, but her eyes widened in shock when he placed his hand under her chin to raise it and ran his thumb over her thin, heart-shaped lips, letting his clawed nail tug at the bottom one, prompting a shallow gasp from the witch. With a wolfish grin, he let his thumb wander south, tracing her pointed chin and the curvature of her jaw as he paid close attention to her reaction. She turned her head to the side to allow him better access, eyes half-lidded and lips curved in a half smile. His nails scraped against the velvety skin of her neck, sliding down further, stopping only a few inches under her collarbone, his hand just shy of touching her bosom, and he waited. She leaned closer still, her lips less than inches apart from his, resting her hands on his lap as she knelt beside him. He ran his free hand down her jet black curls, not minding at all the many knots that had been formed during the battle.

 

“Things could be a great deal worse,” he breathed against her now parted lips, marvelling at the desire written in her eyes as her hands began to move up the sides of his thighs, trying to find the braces in his armor.

 

“Finally! I thought I’d bleed to death from waiting for you to heal me, woman!” Edwin’s voice came from behind one of the rocks. “I shall warm myself up now! (This accursed place is freezing. I should have never wandered so far north.)”

 

Dorn reluctantly let go of Cat before the conjurer could see anything that was not of his business.

 

“Perhaps some other time,” he casually said as Edwin searched for a comfortable place to seat.

 

Cat took less than a second to recover from her shock and send the blackguard a sly grin that made his blood boil.

 

“Perhaps…” she agreed.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, I really enjoyed writing this one! I hope you liked it as well. Please do tell me what you think, I always appreciate your insight. I will keep on building tension between this two, but I am certain the rating of this story will end up going up, if you know what I mean~
> 
> Well, then, until next time, my darlings! Be nice to one another.


	7. Girl on fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cat encounters an ogre camp and decides to aid the chief's mate to take control over it... though she expects her due payment. This chapter includes... More fireballs! Ogres burning alive in graphic detail! Safana being rude as usual! Cat being drunk -again! Cat and Dorn fighting for the attention of sexy ogre ladies! A clusterfuck that makes no sense anymore! And yes, PLENTY of ship tease because I'm aware what you're here for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter and we're getting close to the last of what I've written so far, but I WILL compensate for the possible delays this might cause. In fact, I have a tiiiiny surprise prepared for when this story reaches 100 hits, which is something I never expected to accomplish. I really, really hope you enjoy this!

* * *

 

The scent of roasted meat and the smoky trail that rose above the trees gave away the presence of a camp. Judging by the distance between Cat’s group and the place and the heights the smoke was reaching, the occupants were probably of considerable size. Which meant caution was advisable, even if not completely indispensable. After all, they had been fruitlessly following the river course for hours, trying to find the secret entrance to Dragonspear Castle. The night was young; the six companions needed a distraction from the monotonous trekking down the woods, something more exciting than a couple mountain lions and whiny druids asking for favors.

 

The light of the fire could be seen from far away, yet close enough that Cat did not need to rely on an infravision potion in order to keep moving. At night, she really wished she had Baeloth and Viconia’s natural gift. Though truth be told, she coveted their natural magic resistance at all hours, too. Not that she could do much to attain it, at least not yet.

 

Cat’s thoughts shifted to the sudden closeness of the camp. She and her companions were descending a sheer slope bordered by bare rock to the right, in what seemed to be a mockery for a pathway. Vegetation invaded the other side of the slope, quickly growing into the forest they had left behind not so long ago. Farther ahead, the trail of smoke came closer and closer. Gods, was that roasted boar? It smelled so good that it made Cat’s mouth water, almost literally. Deciding to follow the call of her rumbling stomach, she hastened her pace, hopping from rock to rock like a mountain goat. Her feet slid down the last stretch of the slope, rising earth and dust clouds all about, and staining her boots. Had she not been _so_ hungry, she would have probably been more careful about her gear, but the rations the group was given at the camp were barely edible and had a horrid taste, so the prospect of wrestling for better food didn’t seem all that unattractive.

 

Gesturing the others to approach, she hid behind a rock protrusion that bid entrance to the camp. Safana quickly joined her. Hidden in shadows, the rogue poked her head out to spy on whomever was having such a delicious feast. What she saw made her stifle a gasp and promptly retreat into the safety of their rocky hideout.

 

“Ogres,” she mouthed.

 

“How many?” Cat asked in a whisper.

 

“Too many.”

 

The witch narrowed her eyes.

 

“I’ll be the one to decide that,” she muttered as she poked her head to see.

 

Clearly, Safana and she had very different views as to what “too many” meant. There was a dozen of ogres, at most, even though the camp was big enough to accomodate twice the amount of the huge humanoids. The flames of their campfire licked the night sky, tall enough to dwarf an elf… and Cat herself, by that measure. Two of the brutal creatures stood at opposite ends of the firepit, while another seemed to wait in front of a fur tent that was bigger than the others. The remainder of the ogres sat around the fire, their full attention focused on the two that stood at the pit. From what Cat gathered, they were in the middle of an argument.

 

“Arbinge strongest! I knock three trees over with one hand. I be chief!” The ogre to the right bellowed. The trees he said to have struck down laid a few feet behind him. They had probably not been much taller than their destroyer.

 

“Cheski strong as you, Arbinge, and have brains, too! You not count to two with ettin in front of you!” The ogre to the right responded in howls. He was a tad smaller than the one called Arbinge, which still made him enormous, by any account.

 

It was then that the ogre in front of the biggest tent spoke in roars that shut the other two right up.

 

“Both you shut your holes! NOW!”

 

Cat felt a familiar closeness that almost made her hold her breath. Dorn stood right behind her, peering at the camp. He was almost caging the witch with his greater body, right hand placed on the rocky wall for support. With his left, he pulled back the strands of undone curls that hid Cat’s ear and neck. After pausing for a moment to admire a tiny viper tattoo behind her ear, he leaned into it to speak.

 

“That one has an impressive figure, for an ogre,” he whispered in his deep voice. “He could easily best the other two in combat.”

 

The ogre continued shouting.

 

“Me chief’s mate! Me in charge.”

 

Dorn blinked in surprise.

 

“A FEMALE ogre? Interesting.”

 

Cat turned to glare at him, very aware that in doing so, she was getting close enough to the blackguard to feel his armor against her. Oh, how suddenly inconvenient that otherwise useful protection felt to her right then.

 

“Oh, don’t you dare. I saw her first!”

 

The blackguard raised an eyebrow in what seemed like amusement, but before he could speak on, the ogres continued their heated, and very loud, debate.

 

“Chief’s mate should be in mourning, Murs,” Arbinge replied. “SILENT mourning.”

 

Cheski growled and neared Arbinge. Murs tensed up.

 

“Slug gone. Cheski will decide band’s—” the ogre paused, looking behind Arbinge and the camp, right at Cat. She cursed under her breath. “Wait. Who THEY?”

 

Murs drew a morning star, its head as big as Cat’s, and pointed it at the intruders.

 

“Shiners come take more of us away! KILL’ EM!”

 

_Shiners?_

 

Cat heard her companions draw their weapons and ready themselves for combat when it dawned on her. She raced to stand between her group and the ogres.

 

“Wait! We are not crusaders!” She shouted, raising her hands in a defensive gesture.

 

“You not shiners?” Murs asked, tilting her head to the side. “Why you here?”

 

Cat rolled her eyes.

 

“I overheard you. Half the forest did. You bellowing will bring every crusader in the area down on us,” the mage sighed. “Tell me what’s going on.”

 

“Shiners took my mate, Chief Slug,” Murs spat, each word a curse against her despised crusaders. “Now we decide who leads.”

 

“Not your fight, human,” Arbinge growled, raising his own morning star at Cat in a menacing gesture. “Leave before Arbinge smash you to blood ‘n bits!”

 

Cat ignored the ogre, aiming her words only at Murs.

 

“So whoever wins a fight gets to rule the camp?”

 

Murs nodded.

 

“Chief is strongest one there is,” she explained. “Only one way to know. Me hurt arm in fight, not strong enough to be chief.”

 

In the bitterness written in the ogre’s face, Cat saw a reflection of her own. They were both frustrated, in search of a power that only appeared to elude them. Power to decide their own fate, to write their own stories without the limits that others, mortal or otherwise, wished to impose.

 

“What if I fought as your champion? Could you become the chief, then?”

 

Cat’s suggestion seemed to have offended Cheski’s sensibilities.

 

“You not ogre! You NOT fight to be chief!”

 

A sizzling sound came from Cat’s fingertips, which began to glow with the energy she was more than ready to release. She shot the male ogres a wild smile, all white teeth and defiant eyes. Her heart pounded with cheer in her chest, perhaps to mark the beat of her next moves. She was more than ready for this.

 

“What if I just killed you and Arbinge, Cheski?” She asked in her most saccharine and _menacing_ tone, eyes wide with bloodlust. “What would happen then?”

 

“If you kill them alone for me, I become chief,” Murs replied, nodding her head. “But have to fight alone. Those rules.”

 

“Then I shall fight on your behalf.”

 

“No puny human be chief!” Cheski cried out, drawing his weapon.

 

Arbinge promptly joined the fight, waving his morning star around as Cheski tried to smash Cat with his. They had left their differences behind to join forces against her. Not that it would matter, as those two idiots had just signed their death sentence.

 

With the skill of a dancer, Cat did a back jump to avoid Cheski’s hit. Arbinge’s weapon didn’t even come close to strike her as she threw herself to the floor and rolled to one side. In her mind, there were already a spell and a plan. She got back to her feet and took a few steps back, away from the camp.

 

“Is that all you’ve got?” She shouted at the ogres. “It’s no matter Murs rejects you, you are too stupid to even fight right!”

 

“Me not stupid!!” Cheski roared.

 

“Me smash your face!” Arbinge cried out.

 

Just as Cat expected, both ogres fell straight into her provocation. She took advantage of her greater speed to move farther back from the camp. It would be no use to kill them if she destroyed a camp that could potentially be useful for her. Besides, she didn’t want to risk ruining the delicious roast. She would ask Murs for dinner in return for her favor.

 

Concentrating, Cat raised her hands and uttered the words just as the ogres neared her. Arbinge raised his morning star… only to drop it with a bloodcurdling scream. In that moment, Cat shone brighter even than Caelar Argent as her sunfire spread, eating away the grass and the ogres’ flesh and armor. As they flailed around in agony, Cat ran to put more distance between herself and her opponents, and uttered the words she had become so used to now. One fireball, and bones and muscle were exposed as the ogres’ screams shook the whole forest awake. Cat could hear the howls and cries of the strange animals they had encountered in the druidic grove. Another fireball, and Cheski was dead, his eyeballs melted into liquid that descended upon his charred cheeks like white tears. Arbinge was not in good shape, either, but still strong enough for a desperate leap. He landed right in front of Cat, making the floor tremble and causing her to trip and fall.

* * *

Dorn was transfixed with the fight. Cat’s moves were fluid like water, and her feet danced to a beat not many could hope to match. Perhaps the priestess and the thief were faster, but Cat held an unholy power that made her far superior; mightier than anyone else in the whole camp. And she knew it.

 

Only when he saw the explosions did he turn to search for the other ogres’ expressions. Most were fascinated with the destruction Cat just generated, mouths agape and eyes wide with reverenced fear. Murs’ features were unreadable, but her eyes were filled with… expectation?

 

And then, Arbinge jumped, and Cat tripped and fell. The gigantic ogre raised his morning star with a strained groan. With such deep burns that even revealed bone at some parts of his body, wielding his weapon had to be excruciatingly painful. However, a hit was all he needed.

 

Cursing, Dorn began to unsheathe his greatsword when a hand grabbed his forearm. He turned to whoever _dared_ to try and stop him, baring his fangs in a rumbling warning. It was Viconia.

 

“Dorn, wait. Look at her,” she simply said, pointing at the supine witch. He narrowed his eyes, and thought he saw the witch smile.

 

Arbinge let go of his weapon with an anguished cry, his chest torn open by the multiple glowing red missiles Cat shot from her fingers. Then, she quickly rolled out of the way as the ogre fell lifeless to the grass. The woman jumped back on her feet and raced back into the camp, with the same wild smile she had exhibited when challenging the ogres. Right then, with her thick, messy hair stained with Arbinge’s blood, Dorn surprised himself thinking she looked more beautiful than ever.

 

Murs grinned back at Cat, showing a line of yellowed sharp fangs.

 

“I be chief now. Thank you.”

 

The witch’s eyes gleamed mean, in a becoming pair with her smirk.

 

“You could thank me by joining forces with me to attack Caelar,” she proposed. “We could take out all of those nasty ‘shiners’.”

 

Murs paused for a moment, considering the suggestion.

 

“We fight by your side, but you find my mate Slug,” she said. “I know he not dead. Shiners make ogres slaves to fight for them… or maybe to be other kinds of slaves, for the women.”

 

“Gods above!” Safana protested. “As if we needed THAT mental imagen.”

 

“Agreed,” Cat nodded, “sex slavery is unacceptable, and I will not allow Caelar to carry out such evil deeds.”

 

Safana stared at the mage as if she had grown two heads, but chose not to enlighten her about the actual meaning of her words. She probably already knew and just did not care about the rogue’s sensibilities.

 

“If you rescue my Slug, ogres be your friends forever,” Murs insisted, offering her massive, calloused hand to Cat.

 

Cat placed her much smaller and softer hand on Murs’.

 

“It is always convenient to be friends with ogres… we have a deal, Murs. I will free Slug and those others the crusaders might have taken.”

 

“Then now we celebrate,” the new ogre chief grinned from ear to ear. “Bring food to small friends, and kaug for champion.”

 

Four ogres rose from their seats to bring the roasted boar to the group, who took seats around the fire with the rest of their new allies. In the meantime, an ogrillon disappeared into the gigantic shadows cast by the tents, only to reappear with a gourd that he handed to Murs, who took generous swigs before offering it to Cat.

 

“Kaug be ogre celebration drink. You be my champion. You drink with me.”

 

A little unsure, Cat accepted the gourd, wondering whether she would survive drinking an ogre liquor. When she sniffed it, the odor brought tears to her eyes. That was definitely stronger than ruby wine.

 

Aware of the many eyes watching her every move, she slowly raised the groud and took a sip of the kaug. Almost jolting with shock, she grasped her neck and coughed, feeling as though her throat was on fire. But then…

 

“This… this is delicious!”

 

She took a few long, generous gulps. Hearing the ogres cheering and shouting only encouraged her further. Suddenly, two strong hands snatched the groud from her.

 

“Now we dance around fire!” Murs claimed, grabbing the woman’s arm and lifting her effortlessly.

 

What they did looked less like a dance than stumbling around the fire, kicking and jumping, but the kaug was quickly working its magic on her. She let Murs lead her around the pit and they laughed as they spinned and spinned until the world came out of focus and shifting colors were all that the mage could see. When the ogre chief let go of Cat to feast with her subordinates, the wizardess was far too dizzy to distinguish directions, and she blindly stumbled back with her group, which had already taken care of preparing their tents. She saw Viconia leaving into her own, scowling at the stench of smoke that had clung to her silver mane. From the corner of the eye, she saw Edwin dragging a more than content Baeloth into his own tent, a bit farther from the rest. Safana was nowhere to be found. In her drunken stupor, she failed to notice Dorn was sitting right in front of her, cutting her path, until she tripped with him and fell… into his arms, that prevented her from colliding with the ground.

 

“Watch your step,” he grumbled, glaring at the confused mage.

 

“Did you just materialize in here?” To the blackguard’s credit, she managed to utter those words without tripping over her tongue.

 

“If you can’t even stand on your feet, perhaps you should sleep the kaug off,” Cat thought she had heard a hint of teasing in the half-orc’s sharp words.

 

“Hey! You don’t know how strong that thing was!” She protested, poking at the man’s thick armor with her index.

 

Groaning, he grabbed her hand so she didn’t accidentally hurt herself by her efforts to stab him with her finger.

 

“As a matter of fact, I have,” he replied, sneering at the woman’s drunken state, “but it’s clear that my body is much better suited for that liquor than yours, _puny human._ ”

 

Cat gasped in mocked indignation.

 

“How DARE you? After I slayed two ogres by myself!”

 

Dorn had to hold her other wrist to prevent the intoxicated witch from trying to punch his heavily protected chest. She would surely thank him the next day, when she was sober.

 

“Hrmm. I must admit that was an impressive show of power,” he smirked. “But I would have accomplished it thrice faster.”

 

Cat scoffed.

 

“Of course. You think you can _always_ do better, don’t you?”

 

The blackguard knitted his eyebrows.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

With feline speed, she twisted her wrists and freed herself from Dorn’s grip. With drunken giggles, she circled him with her arms, hands running down his thick hair. He felt her fingertips brushing his scalp ever so slightly. She grinned.

 

“You underestimate me,” she whispered against his lips, eyes half-lidded and locked into his. “Well, you’re in for quite a surprise.”

 

Cat’s hands clenched around Dorn’s locks, pulling at them as she neared him further still, closing her eyes as she opened her mouth to kiss his…

 

*~*~*

 

Dorn was caught completely off guard by Cat’s emboldened attitude. Was it the liquor, or did she really mean for something to happen between them in that moment? Whatever it was, she was in no shape to think straight about her actions, so he should put an end to it and take her to her tent to rest until she recovered her senses. But then she pulled at his hair, with that devious smile of hers, and he found himself unable to do anything but gaze at those green eyes, slowly closing as she leaned into him, her lips just shy of touching his...

 

And then her head fell and she collapsed on his lap, snoring softly. The blackguard stared at her, perplexed by what had just transpired. With a huff, he decided that she definitely needed to sleep off the alcohol abuse. Carefully, he lifted her to carry her in his arms bridal style. He searched for her tent… only to notice that she hadn’t prepared it.

 

“Blasted witch…” he murmured at her unconscious figure as he carried her into his own tent.

 

Inside, he prepared his bedroll and took off the woman’s boots. Then, he pulled the covers over her. Groaning at the prospect of having to sleep outside his own bedroll because of the mage’s carelessness, he gently pulled some strands of hair off her face. She whimpered and stirred in her slumber, but did not wake. Dorn shook his head.

 

“Indeed, you do not cease to surprise me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, how was this last chapter? I would love to read your feedback, it really encourages me to keep on writing and to improve. I'll make sure to be in touch! Even though I try to limit the use of my phone as much as possible, I'd still like to keep on interacting with you people, reading what you've written, replying to your comments and whatnot! So, until next time, my darlings! <3


	8. Arktash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cat is tasked with the mission of opening an entrance for the coalition army to enter Dragonspear Castle... and also poison their supplies. After everything goes not so right, the tides suddenly turn when she finds herself alone with a certain half-orc...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, what you've all been waiting for. Well, the first piece of smut for this story. I don't know when there will be more, or if I'll be forced to make you wait until SoA, heh. And yeah, I found a really really cheap excuse for it to happen and I'm not apologizing. So juuuust go with the flow and enjoy this chapter, for it is MUCH longer than any I've ever written before, as it includes the two interactions with Dorn you get at the underground river. And I've finally found a portrait somewhat similar to my mental image of what Cat looks like. It's my new profile picture over here!
> 
> Also, I'd like to give a huge thank you to those who showed support when I mentioned my recent issues. It means the world to me that you actually care. Thank you, again.

_Lay me down_

_Let the only sound_

_Be the overflow_

* * *

 

For all the might and the gods’ favor Crusaders claimed to possess, they surely were lacking in wits. Cat and her companions managed to sneak into the underground entrance to Dragonspear Castle, no questions asked. The soldiers didn't even cast a second glance at her. Did no one provide a description of her and her partners? True, those who faced them didn't live to tell the tale, but Caelar had had a face to face meeting with Cat, and yet she did not describe her greatest foe to her loyal soldiers? Could it be that she was really so delusional to think she could get Cat to fight by her side? After what she did to Imoen? After defying the Bhaalspawn herself?

 

Whatever the reason behind such imprudence, Cat was not one to waste an opportunity when it so conveniently presented itself. So she poised as a crusader and walked around their underground warehouse at her leisure. She and her companions passed through barrels, boxes and sacks stacked with potatoes, carrots, apples, cabbage, and turnips; as well as the unsuspecting crusaders and mercenaries who carried said stock around or kept watch over the place. Alas, there was no way to poison those supplies with so many enemy forces around, but Cat wasn't in a rush. She could look for other ways to spoil as much as she could… and maybe make Caelar suffer more casualties. But first, she needed to find the spot to place the barrel of Bwoosh!. It was the main mission, so she wore the stone dowser that would guide her to the fault in the gigantic caverns the castle sat atop of.

 

It was then that she noticed a group of sacks that was separated from the rest, probably awaiting transportation elsewhere. Perhaps if she created a distraction… She turned to Safana, who raised an eyebrow at her.

 

“I need you to seduce that idiot,” Cat told the rogue, pointing at the depot supervisor.

 

“I really hope I get a little extra for the task,” Safana complained. “And I’m _not_ using my tongue.”

 

Cat snickered at that.

 

“You know you don’t need it,” she replied. “And yes, I will make sure to get you something shiny… or perhaps you’d like to sneak into Caelar's wardrobe and steal her robes?”

 

Safana smirked.

 

“I like the way you think. But I don’t think that crazed zealot can live up to my fashion expectatives.”

 

“No, but it will surely piss her off.”

 

After sharing some laughs, the two women parted to carry out their tasks. With just a few words, the gnomic supervisor was wrapped around Safana's finger. In the meantime, Cat reached for as many sacks as she could stuff into her bag of holding. She could keep them for the group so they had something better to eat than the disgusting portions of dried meat they were assigned at the camp. Their food situation hadn't improved even though it was a known fact that the Waterdhavian soldiers had better provisions. But that wasn’t her only option; perhaps she could take full advantage of the situation and sell the food to Waizahb. There was enough to device a black market at the coalition camp, and this time she would be the one to manage it and get the highest profit. Maybe she could base the price on the soldier’s payment, so even the poorest ones would spend their money on her business. Yes, that sounded like a good plan. Or maybe she could…

 

The sound of Safana clearing her throat returned Cat to the present time.

 

“May I know why you are staring into the void like that?  Haven't you finished taking the food?”

 

“It is done, indeed. My apologies, I was weighing the potential profits from our catch.”

 

Safana raised an eyebrow, amused, but said nothing else and let the witch lead the way. Cat grabbed her silver pendant, which vibrated to indicate they had to go north. The group walked along the cave, which gave way into a passage that ascended towards a set of stairs guarded by a couple crusaders. Everybody tensed; there was always the possibility that their cover was blown. But Cat stood her ground and kept walking, greeting the soldiers with a wave of her hand. They returned the gesture, completely unsuspecting of who they were letting through. The stairs led to a door that Cat opened when she once more felt the pull of the stone dowser, signaling that she should turn west now. She got a few feet ahead of her companions to determine the exact point where they should make said turn, when Dorn’s voice startled her. How people like him, with noisy full plate armor, managed to sneak up on her like that, she had no idea, but she should really do something about the way she became so absorbed in her own musings.

 

“This is intolerable!”

 

Cat frowned and turned to face the blackguard. He looked beyond upset.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“We should be attacking the enemy head on,” he grumbled. “They should see the faces of those who strike them down.”

 

The woman blinked. Couldn't he see that poisoning the enemy and breaking access into the castle was by far the smartest course of action?

 

“There will be plenty of battle later,” she sighed, not wanting to waste time arguing.

 

Dorn crossed his arms, a deep frown in his face.

 

“PLENTY,” Cat insisted, taking a step closer to him and noting him tense up at the gesture. “I expect to see you covered in gore from tusk to toe.”

 

It was no lie. Once they were done with their infiltration, they would charge into battle along with the coalition army. The fight at Bridgefort would pale in comparison to the one that was to come. Dorn held Cat's gaze for a moment, weighing her words.

 

“Hmm. Perhaps the plan does have some merit,” he finally admitted. “In this moment you remind me of someone I once knew.”

 

“Who?” Cat asked, curious. She knew little of Dorn's past, so it was always good when he decided to share.

 

“When I was a boy, the Il-Khan tribe was led by a fierce warrior, a woman by the name of Arktash,” he reminisced. “The stories say she too used guile to her advantage.”

 

“A flattering comparison,” Cat nodded in approval.

 

“I idolized her, for a time,” Dorn went on, absentmindedly nearing Cat and taking a strand of her hair to twirl it in his fingers. “It was clear that she was intelligent and cunning. An impressive leader who did many things for our tribe in her short reign.”

 

“What happened?” Cat inquired, not minding at all Dorn's gesture.

 

“Arktash connived her way into power; she did not earn her position with blood. Despite the good she did the tribe, her rivals worked to bring her down,” he explained, his intense gaze fixed on her. “She was killed less than a season into her reign. It seems she did not respect her enemies enough to face them head on, and suffered the consequences.”

 

Cat understood. Though it irked her that he would say that after witnessing all of the things she’d done that proved just how much powerful she was.

 

“I like to stack the odds, yes, but I also have a fighting spirit,” she replied, frowning.

 

Dorn remained silent. He did not seem convinced. His doubts felt utterly irritating. With a quick leap, her arms were around him, hands caressing his thick neck all the way up to his scalp.

 

“Did you mean to insult or warn me with your story?” She asked in a heated whisper as she entangled her fingers to his hair. He did not reply, but he didn't seem to mind the attention he was receiving, either. “You’ve inflamed me. I will prove my power to you.”

 

Then she felt his gloved hands sliding down her sides to settle on her hips. He was visibly frustrated at the metal barrier that prevented him from actually feeling her body under his touch.

 

“I see the passion in your eyes, but you must back up your words with action,” he replied, his own eyes betraying the lust he barely tried to hide anymore. “Time will tell if your story ends like Arktash’s or if you forge your own fate.”

 

_Fate…_

 

With a playful smirk, Cat let go of him and took a step back.

 

“My coin has landed edge on,” she said, remembering the hermit who told her of her fortune back at the Sword Coast. “Whether I live or die, my fate will always be mine to forge.”

 

_And no one will ever interfere on it. Not even my father. Not even the living gods themselves. If you haven't seen it already, I shall make sure you will._

* * *

“Fucking finally,” Cat muttered.

 

After tricking some sahuagin into running to their deaths so they could traverse the passage they guarded, accidentally saving a couple young drow adventurers –Viconia lectured them for their carelessness– and having a rather tense encounter with their adult relatives –on Viconia's part, again–, slaughtering a bunch of necromancers who were turning unwilling people into undead –and accidentally burning those to death as well, _oops_ –, killing a druid who wanted to kill them in turn for the terrible crime of wanting to take a closer look at his strange tree, slaying a group of sick crusaders before someone found them and healed them, bringing rest to an ettin ghost who rewarded them with his loincloth –it was kind of awkward–, finding the proper spot to place the barrel of Bwoosh!, freeing Slug and the other ogres from Murs’ tribe –in exchange for a treasure and the tribe’s support against the “shiners”–, and having yet another encounter with the creepy hooded man –Cat yelled at him for intruding her dreams–; they _finally_ made it to the water supplies of the crusaders.

 

Humming to herself, Cat dropped one of the two vials of the poison of terror in the water. The liquid was completely colorless, so no one would detect it at plain sight. It was also odorless, so the Crusaders would surely drink from it, completely unsuspecting. Or so she thought, until a water mephit suddenly materialized and proceeded to screech to the top of its lungs, its ugly face contorted in a pained grimace as the poison made its effects on it.

 

“Intruders! INTRUDERS AT THE WATER STORAGE!”

 

And then he was silenced by three swarms of magic missiles, an enchanted arrow and a magic bullet. That was before Dorn decided to cut the tiny devil in two, just in case. Everyone was tense, waiting for crusaders to pop up from the nearest corner; everyone except Baeloth, as usual.

 

“What a delightfully devious deed,” he chuckled, wiggling his fingers, an eccentric habit that he had.

 

“You can celebrate later,” Cat replied as she exited the storage room, motioning her comrades to follow, “now we must reach the food supplies before—”

 

“The intruders are here! Call Hephernaan!”

 

Cat sighed.

 

“You know what? Fuck the plan. Attack!”

 

The enemy mage who found them at the stone hallway never knew what hit him. Or rather, he died before registering the drow sorcerer laughing maniacally as he threw magic missiles at him, or the angry half-orc charging in his direction, raising his greatsword with a mighty roar. Or the two mages discreetly casting stoneskin on themselves because they were aware that the place was about to get rather crowded. And they were right; no sooner than Safana's arrow pierced the mage's throat and Viconia strengthened herself with Shar’s holy power, three other mages and a group of fighters scudded to the scene. Cat recognized the man leading the group as Hephernaan; with his golden robes, his blond locks of hair and his eyes blacker than tar. To say he was astonished to see the group of adventurers would be an understatement.

 

“Cat… but how?” He blinked a couple times, trying to make sense of what his eyes showed him.

 

“Do you really expect me to explain?” The mage smirked, crossing her arms as she deviced her next spell in her mind. Hephernaan's protections were powerful; she could tell. She'd have to break through them.

 

“I doesn't matter, actually,” there was something unsettling about his smile. “You made a mistake coming here, Bhaalspawn. Guards, bring me her blood!”

 

“Again with the blood!” Cat groaned. “I’ve met vampires a lot less obsessed with it, you know?”

 

Her mockery was cut short by an unnaturally powerful Melf’s acid arrow shot by Hephernaan himself, which burst through her chest, leaving her out of breath. The burning feeling of abrasion brought her down to her knees. Fire arrow spells and Safana's arrows of dispelling flew all around as Viconia approached the witch to heal her. Cat dismissed her with a hand gesture as she recited her spell. A translucid torrent of mystical energy blew from her hands and in the three enemy mages' direction. Suddenly, their spheres of  invulnerability and their stoneskin spells vanished into thin air. Cat looked back up at Viconia and smirked despite the pain.

 

“Go get them. I’ll be fine.”

 

As the drow raced to face Hephernaan, Dorn quick by her side, Cat searched in her backpack, grateful for the distraction Edwin and Baeloth were creating with their flame arrow, fear and hopelessness spells. So while she quaffed a potion of healing, they kept weakening their foes while Safana targeted Hephernaan. The warriors had fallen into Baeloth's enchantments, so they wouldn't a problem for a good while. Fully healed, or at least as much as the potion could do, Cat joined the fight, using up her last magic missiles to fend off Hephernaan's lackeys. She wished she hadn't been so stubborn about not specializing in a magic school so she could “learn everything there was to learn”; right then she could really use some spell pierce or lower resistance spells to weaken Hephernaan, that blasted man was way more resilient than he looked like… and his spells were mightier than hers.

 

As the mages’ and the sorcerer's fire arrows striked down one of Hephernaan's mages, Safana shot the other one, tearing off his ear and making him lose focus on his spell, which vanished in a pathetic “poof”. In the meantime, Dorn and Viconia striked at Hephernaan with all they had, preventing him from concentrating for long enough to cast a spell. Still, he resisted the slashes and blows better than any regular man could, actually dodging most of them with a grace that could only be mirrored by an elf. And though he was badly wounded, he was able to hold a potentially lethal swing of Dorn's greatsword with his quarterstaff. Then, Cat remembered the vision of the man she had at Coldhearth's lair. It became clear to her that he was an outsider. She wondered if Caelar, who wanted to wage war against the Hells, was aware that she was dealing with a devil. A devil who was also dealing with the hooded man, and who had another “associate” whose motives for supporting the Shining Lady's crusade were likely as dubious as Hephernaan's.

 

Right in that moment, the devil leapt just in time to avoid having his face smashed by Viconia's mace. With a flick of his hand, he opened a portal and backed away towards it.

 

“You are in the belly of the beast, Cat—there is no escape!” He bellowed. “I shall return with reinforcements to finish this once and for all.”

 

Before anyone could react, he stepped through the portal, which immediately closed, darkening the area.

 

“Return with reinforcements? Ha! More like go lick his wounds!” Cat chuckled as she shot a flame arrow at the only surviving mage’s chest.

 

From the corner of the eye, Edwin saw the door at the other side of the hallway opening. More crusaders were on their way.

 

“Cat, if you do not care about your own survival, at least have the courtesy to watch over mine!” He protested, signaling their new foes. “(It’s not that I’m a coward, 'tis mere strategic thinking!)”

 

The woman sighed.

 

“Right. Let’s get to the elevator before they reach us.”

 

The first arrows began to fly in the group's direction, but their foes were still too far to catch up with them. Once in the ogre-propelled elevator, Cat tugged at the rope that let the creatures know someone wished to descend, and the machine soon got into motion with the creak of the chains that sustained it. It would buy them a few minutes, but they still had to hurry. As Cat practically jumped from the platform, one of the ogres halted the group.

 

“We hear loud noise up. What happened?”

 

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Cat replied before anyone could use their still unsheathed and blood-covered weapons. “Belben got me moving crates around and I accidentally dropped one, that's all.”

 

The giant brutes exchanged glances. One of them scratched his chin. They were surely not the brightest people Cat had met.

 

“Makes sense,” the one who stopped them finally said, shrugging.

 

“There were rather delicate supplies up there, he ordered me to tell you to cut off the elevator access, so no one can go up or come down.”

 

“That… never happened before.”

 

Cat smiled and motioned the ogres to get closer so she could speak to them in whispers.

 

“It’s actually a secret weapon to bring down the crusade’s enemies,” she lied, eyes wide in well faked excitement. “It is crucial that no one sees it; they may be tempted to use it before it’s fully ready.”

 

The pair of confused ogres stared at each other once more, unsure of what to say.

 

“Makes… sense, too? If the weapon be important, we cut off the chains of the elevator.”

 

“We no tell of the secret weapon, we promise!”

 

“Shhh, you no speak so loud, halfwit! It be a secret!”

 

“Very secret, indeed,” Cat nodded, satisfied with her work. “We must go now, we have more errands to run. Take care of that elevator, darlings.”

 

Not wanting to waste any more time, the adventurers hurried out of the underground level of the castle. Luckily for them, no one apart from the ogres noticed them. Still, Cat didn't want to push it. They entered the caves once more, ready to take on any crusader who came after them. It didn't take long for that to happen, alas. The blood on their weapons and garments had undoubtedly given away their true identity. Or perhaps the guards had found the corpse of the mage that they stopped from binding water elementals against their will? Whatever the reason, the door guards, as well as the small group gathered around a fire pit a few feet away, unsheathed their weapons and attacked in the name of the Shining Lady. Cat and company quickly dispatched them in the name of being sick and tired of self-righteous assholes and wanting to get the hells out of that stinking place. It was then that Cat noticed how dangerously close they were to the barrel of Bwoosh!. Sure, they had to get out of the caves before Hephernaan's reinforcements came, but what if they found the barrel? Their mission would fail, and there would be no way to enter the castle when the battle began.

 

“Stay and hold off as many crusaders as you see, don’t let them come close to the barrel!” Cat commanded.

 

“What are you going to do?” Viconia inquired in shock at the woman's sudden change of heart about their course of action.

 

Edwin's eyes widened in understanding.

 

“Of course,” he muttered. “Someone has to conceal that blasted barrel from view, am I correct?”

 

Cat nodded.

 

“I shall cast some illusions on it, but I need you to keep our enemies away until I’m finished.”

 

“Well, it seems that things are quiet, for the moment,” Safana pointed out, “but there are some groups patrolling around. They will surely attack us on sight if they see this trail of bodies we just left behind.”

 

“They will also attack you if they see you with the barrel,” Dorn grumbled, frowning in badly concealed worry.

 

Cat shot him a bright grin.

 

“That's why you’re coming with me!” Before the man could reply, she took his hand and walked towards the bridge the ettin ghost had been haunting until they brought him to rest. The blackguard let the woman lead him; she would have never been able to drag him against his will, but protecting her seemed like a sensible enough option. As usual.

* * *

The barrel was still where they had left it, untouched and prepared to blow the whole caves to smithereens. Cat casted a couple divination spells in order to understand the explosive’s composition. She was aware that some components reacted quite badly to magic, so it was necessary to make sure she wouldn't accidentally kill herself and her associates. Dorn kept watch close to her, attentive to every little noise, every shadow in every corner, so she’d be able to focus with no interruptions.

 

Like the woman had suspected, the explosive was highly unstable and could react in unpredictable and very possibly fatal ways to many spells. However, there was a possibility. She could just alter its surroundings so they looked exactly the same, safe for a very suspicious wooden barrel placed in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere. The spell would not affect the Bwoosh! itself, but it would take her some time to cast it. Mainly because she needed to inspect and memorize her surroundings. It would be a lot harder than just enchanting the barrel, and it would take her a lot more time. Yet it was probably their only chance at success. Thankfully, her memory was nothing short of prodigious. She walked countless times around the site, hands on the wall, on the floor, to feel every unevenness that characterized the terrain. Once she felt ready, she came to a halt in the middle of the cave.  From that spot, she had a perfect view of the whole of her surroundings.

 

Like so many times before, the mage took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She let the whole of her energy concentrate in an image in her mind. She focused on the landscape alone, each rock, each patch of dust, the black water of the underground river, the rugged walls of the cave, the image burning in her mind so bright that it hurt. It hurt so much that when she opened her eyes, she was seeing stars. The witch became dizzy and released the breath she only then realized she had been holding. She felt like she was about to fall… but then something stopped her. After blinking a few times, her sight returned to normal, and she could see Dorn's concerned face close to hers as he held her in his arms to prevent her from hitting the floor. Cat grimaced; it was starting to become a habit.

 

“Thank you,” she mumbled as he helped her back to her feet.

 

“You did it, Cat.”

 

The tone of admiration in the blackguard's voice made the woman do a double take of her surroundings. It was true; everything looked exactly the same, to the tiniest detail. She even got right the little crack in the western wall that only perfectly trained eyes would make out. Yet there was no trace of the barrel. She had done it, indeed. The woman nodded at the marvelled half-orc, chin pointed up in pride.

 

“Of course I did. I’m a genius, remember?”

 

Dorn's expression changed. There was a hint of discomfort… and something Cat could not name.

 

“Cat… a word?”

 

The half-orc's tone was unusually soft. It caught the witch off-guard.

 

“What is it?” She asked.

 

“I have been thinking about the last words we spoke. There is something I wish to add.” He responded after a few seconds.

 

“Is it another tale of an orc warrior who met a horrible death and reminds you of me? Cause then I’ll pass.”

 

Her tone had been jestful, but her words had visibly hit Dorn in some way. He lowered his head and frowned. There was something troubling him, and he needed to get it out of his chest.

 

“It’s possible I did not give you the credit you deserve for leading us thus far,” he admitted, still averting her gaze. “I am not a strategist. I am a warrior.”

 

Cat had to hold back her laughter. She knew she would be able to show him just how wrong he had been about her, but she didn't expect it to take her so little time to get it through his thick skull. And to see him like that, so troubled, grudgingly apologizing because he hated being wrong just as much as she did… It was _so_ endearing.

 

And then he met her gaze once more, and she froze. It was hard to hold the intense stare of those dark eyes that looked like they could pierce right through her. And yet, she was completely unable to look away, either. If she didn't know better, she’d have thought he was casting a spell on her.

 

“I… admire your ability to think in times of danger,” he confessed in a lower voice that caused Cat's heart rate to escalate into a thundering drumming sound she was certain he could hear.

 

_Get your shit together, damnit._

 

“Thank you. It’s kept me alive so far,” she replied, crossing her arms and tilting her head to the side with a lopsided grin, in what she dearly hoped would look like a cocky gesture.

 

But oh, then he had to go and return the smirk. And walk closer to her. And then a little bit closer, as he took off one of his gauntlets. Cat bit her lower lip so hard she genuinely thought she had drawn blood.

 

“The most desirable skills are the ones that keep our hearts beating from minute to minute,” he said as he caressed her cheek, slid his hand down her neck, and rested it on her heart. Cat took the chance to quickly help him out of his other gauntlet. His grin amplified, showing the sharp fangs that Cat secretly found so arousing…

 

“Power comes in many forms. This I have learned,” he continued, resting his other hand  on her hip, sharp claws digging even through the witch's robe. Oh, how long had she yearned for _that_ touch, for his hands on her…

 

“Your power is more subtle. Mine, that gifted by Ur-Gothoz, is the power of physicality,” he leaned in even closer as he spoke, towering over the tiny mage and gripping her hands by the wrist to pin them to the wall and over her head, to exemplify his words.

 

Cat, in turn, let her eyes roam his muscular frame. Even with a full plate armor, it was plain to see just how impressive he was. Especially his thighs; it was the most the woman could see of him, and she was certain the blackguard could strangle a man with those.

 

“You certainly have a powerful body,” she purred, standing on her tiptoes to try to nip at his jaw. However, he released her hands and grabbed her hips to pull her to him before she could do anything.

 

“And yet you haven't seen everything it can do,” he whispered, his breath hot, lips curved in that _so damn attractive_ crooked smile of his. “I am a warrior, yes, but there are far more pleasurable uses I can put this body to.”

 

“I can imagine,” Cat circled his neck with her hands, tangling her fingers in his thick hair. “In fact I HAVE imagined. Many times…”

 

It was no lie. Many nights had she touched herself to the thought of his body pressed to hers, of biting his neck and scratching his back as he thrusted into her…

 

Judging for his sharp breaths, Cat could tell he had imagined her as well. His hands, now more adventurous, lowered to rest on her rear, squeezing it just so...

 

“We must go, I know,” he finally replied, his half-lidded eyes darkening, if that was even possible. “But we can have one moment to ourselves.”

 

Upon hearing those words, Cat propelled herself up, surprising him with a passionate kiss as she hooked her legs around his waist. He reacted just in time to strengthen his hold on her buttocks as he pinned her back to the wall, growling at the feeling of her tongue against his. She pulled at his hair, he bit her lips. Yes, now she was definitely bleeding.

 

“That hurt, you jerk!” She protested, glaring at him and trying to conceal the fact that she kind of liked it.

 

For all response, Dorn licked the blood off the nicks of her lips, and Cat was unable to cut off a sigh or stop her body from shuddering. Her fingers searched through the man’s scalp, until she found his ears. She knew the shapes were different and they weren’t the same race, but one of her former lovers –scratch that, utter mistakes– was an elf, and the pointed tip of her ears were definitely sensitive. Perhaps it was the same for Dorn?

 

It didn't take long for her to find out she was right, if the groans her feather-like caresses elicited from the man were any indicator. He kissed her roughly, no bites this time, and she felt his hands search insistently up her thighs and under her robes. For some reason, his eagerness made her giggle. Her hands let go of his neck and she fred his waist from the vise-like grip of her well-rounded legs. He helped her stand upright and waited as she took off her scant smallclothes. Not a second after she unceremoniously tossed the garment aside, he latched his hands to her again, one of them working its way up her thigh, the other reaching between her legs. Cat searched for the braces that held his armor together, but he gently held her hands to stop her.

 

“I’m afraid we don’t have _that_ much time,” he explained, with an almost apologetic smile.

 

“But I want to touch you,” Cat whined.

 

Dorn laughed at her capricious fit. It was a low, rumbling sound that sent chills down Cat’s spine.

 

“When we are back at the camp, you will get to do a lot more than touching,” he murmured at the witch’s ear as his right hand returned to her core.

 

The woman moaned and held herself to him, sucking on his jaw as his fingers found her clit and caressed it in circular motions. Gods, she needed to reciprocate the attention…

 

Suddenly, Dorn thrusted a finger inside her. His long, pointed nail scraped against the sensitive flesh, prompting a cry of pain from Cat.

 

“Ouch! Careful with those claws!”

 

Dorn withdrew the finger and returned to teasing her clit as he pulled her closer for a kiss. This one was different from the former, slower, almost… tender.

 

“My apologies. Does this feel better?” He asked, eyes fixed on her face, trying to make out any further signs of discomfort.

 

Cat took a sharp breath and looked away in faked indignation. Which was quite a feat, considering how _very nicely_ he was pleasing her now.

 

“Oh, I don’t know,” she replied, making an herculean effort to prevent her voice from shaking, “you might need to kiss it better.”

 

And then her back hit the wall again, as the man’s hands held up her robes. He got on his knees, looking up at her with lust… and reverence?

 

“Open your legs,” Cat couldn't tell if he was commanding or begging her, but she was quick to obey.

 

The witch felt the blackguard's warm breath at her sex as he neared it, and then…

 

“Ahhh—FUCK!”

 

Heavens above and nine hells bellow, for someone so not inclined for speaking, Dorn knew _so damn well_ how to use his tongue. He began slowly, focusing on her entrance first, as if actually complying to her order of kissing it better. But when he first licked her clit… oh, for the second time that day, Cat was seeing stars. She had to support herself on his shoulders, im fear of falling. Not that he wouldn't catch her, but she would _not_ give him that satisfaction. His ego was already monstrous; it needed no further feeding. Even if that cockiness of his turned her on like nothing else.

 

And then the bastard looked up at her with that smirk of his that let her know he was up to no good, and proceeded to tease her _everywhere_ except her clit. He neared it, almost touching it to give her what she craved, lingered there for a moment; and when he felt her shifting her position so he would fucking do his job, he retreated with a dark chuckle. No one had played with Cat that way before, and it was equal parts fascinating and frustrating.

 

“Damn you, Dorn Il-Khan, stop teasing me already!” She hissed, pulling hard at his hair and the earrings he wore.

 

She had expected payback of some sort for that action, but when he groped her ass and dragged his claws along her buttocks, she was unable to suppress a yell. And this time, it wasn't due to pain. Dorn was staring up at the witch with that hot, intense glare of his that was more than enough to melt her.

 

“Ask nicely,” he simply said.

 

“Fuck you!” Cat squirmed against him, trying to get closer and farther from him at the same time, anything so her thoughts returned to her. Asking nicely? Who the hell did he think she was?

 

Then she felt it. His tongue, fully focused on her clit in what was clearly a show of what he was capable of. And _oh,_ was he good at this. Cat moaned and felt her strength leaving her as her legs began to tremble, no longer able to sustain her. Just like she had predicted, Dorn was there to catch her before she fell. He unhooked his sable cloak and stretched it on the floor for her to lay on it. He crawled over her, leaving a finger at _that_ sweet spot so he could torture her a little further.

 

“Say it,” he insisted, and licked his lips. He wanted it just as much as she did.

 

Cat shot daggers at him.

 

“You know I will get my revenge as soon as we step on the camp, right?”

 

The blackguard grinned.

 

“I expect no less.”

 

“Well then, Dorn, _please,_ ” she emphasized the word as he added some delicious pressure to the slow movements of his finger, “would you be so kind to make me fucking come already?”

 

The half-orc leaned down and kissed her, just brushing her lips with his, pulling at the bottom one with one of his tusks with extreme care so as not to hurt her again. Before Cat could pull him closer and deepen the kiss, he parted it, with one of those rare gentle smiles of his that made Cat all fluttery inside.

 

“Anything for you, my goddess.”

 

The mage's heart skipped a few beats at his words, the tone he had used, his smile… but before she could react and inquire him about it, Dorn's head was already between her legs, preoccupied with leaving a trail of wet kisses from her knee to her inner thigh, and then to her groin, building more tension that Cat thought was able to handle. She shuddered in anticipation of what was coming…

 

Then, when that well-trained tongue savored the whole of her sex and began to trace the shape of her clit, she was able to do nothing but screaming his name. He was thorough and left no area unattended, swirling his tongue in circles, building up speed, growling all the while as he feasted on the helplessly delighted woman underneath him. Then Cat arched up, lifting her hips, and bit her forearm to muffle her fever-pitched screams, all the while Dorn made sure to taste her come to the last drop. He allowed her a few moments to collect herself, gazing at her as she absentmindedly caressed his jaw, his cheek, his ears, his hair; and undid all the path to let her hand rest under his chin.

 

_Shit. I think I love this man._

 

“I…” she stammered, still struggling to regain her breath, “I think I’ve stained your cloak, sorry.”

Dorn raised an eyebrow.

 

“Why would that be a problem?” He inquired, a hint of humor in his voice.

 

Cat groaned as she rose back to her feet.

 

“I should have known you’d say something like that, you nasty blackguard,” she joked as he retrieved the cloak and stood.

 

“Don’t expect otherwise, I have yet to satisfy myself,” he clasped the cloak with a smirk, eyes wandering Cat’s figure, desire still written in them.

 

“I think I can take care of that later,” she answered as she began to saunter away. “But you’d better be ready, because I’m going to make you beg for mercy.”

 

Dorn's strong arms held Cat by the waist and pulled her to him to take yet another heated kiss that she gladly let him steal. His mouth tasted of herself… which she somehow found extremely exciting.

 

“My blood simmers with anticipation,” Dorn panted, out of breath from the lengthy kiss. “Let us continue on.”

 

A little while later, the two reunited with the group. Their sneers confirmed that Cat was, indeed, a little too loud for her convenience. However, she was able to shut any distasteful comments with a single glare and a reminder that she was more than capable of killing the whole of them in more of a dozen different ways. However, as they fought their way out of the caves –the guards of the entrance had apparently found their companions’ bodies–, Cat thought of what had just happened between Dorn and her. How wonderful it had been, how good it felt to be so close to him, how _safe_ she felt by his side and how comfortable she felt with trusting him so much. She remembered the way he looked at her, the fact that he called her a goddess. _His_ goddess. But before she could reflect any further about the meaning of such events, she realized something a little more problematic.

 

_Shit, I forgot my underwear!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The little piece at the beginning is from Florence + The Machine's What The Water Gave Me. Might be posting a couple more of these if I feel inspired to do so.
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed this chapter. As always, please be kind to provide some feedback, I wish to keep improving my writing. I don't know when the next one will be up, since I haven't gotten started on it yet and it might take me a little while, but I'll keep on uploading some more tiny one-shots in the meantime. See you on the next one, my darlings!


	9. The offering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caelar Argent calls on a peace meeting, revealing that she needs Cat to fulfill her plan of rescuing the souls trapped in the Nine Hells during the Dragonspear Wars. The question is; will she cooperate? And what will be the consequences of her choice?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here I am after I don't even know how long anymore. Hit a rough patch, but I'm slowly getting to write again. This chapter is rather long because it was initially going to consist only of the parlay at the Dead Man's Pass, but since nothing really happens there, I decided to add something more. I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

 

Caelar Argent had a very special knack for pissing Cat off. First, with her not-an-assassination attempt that left Imoen in a coma. Then, with another, quite more lethal if she hadn't Larloch drained the life of her assailant away. Then, she had the gall to claim not to be her enemy and to demand they became allies. And after weeks and weeks of fighting her pesky minions and finally getting a chance to defeat her, she called for a peace meeting. _Just when Cat arrived from poisoning her supplies._ The generals of the three armies that formed the coalition were present at the encounter, which took place at the entrance of the Dead Man’s Pass. No one had noticed Cat’s arrival yet, an opportunity that she took to hear whatever the generals had to say and would not dare to say in front of her. Torsin de Lancie, from Waterdeep, had the word at the moment, with his pointy stuck up nose and chin up in his usual stance of superiority.

 

“If I understand correctly then,” he was saying, “you’re willing to surrender your troops and abandon Dragonspear Castle. All we have to do is give you the Bhaalspawn.”

 

What?

 

“That traitorous rat,” Dorn growled as he reached for his greatsword. “I knew we should have never trusted him.”

 

“So did I, but let them speak first,” Cat replied, placing a hand on the man's massive arm to stop him from starting a fight. “I want to see this conversation through. Perhaps we can turn it to our advantage.”

 

As Cat had predicted, there was no consensus over Caelar's peace conditions. General Stonehand of Daggerford stared at his comrade in outrage and disbelief.

 

“You better not be considering this offer, de Lancie. We all know you are a coward—don’t be a traitor too.”

 

Cat actually giggled at that. There was Stonehand, who had called her blackhearted and stated she despised having the Bhaalspawn at the camp, defending her against her ally. Not that the dwarf particularly liked him, either. He was one of those people who were just really easy to hate.

 

The next to speak was the Shining Lady, who was addressing de Lancie.

 

“You understand my position, then. I need the child of Bhaal, but only for a short time. I shall return her safe, unharmed, within the week and disperse my troops from Dragonspear Castle.”

 

 _Like hell you will,_ Cat thought.

 

After the Lady was done explaining, de Lancie turned to Stonehand, feigning offense.

 

“I only intended to clarify the offer, Stonehand. No need for accusations.”

 

That time, Cat broke into a fit of laughter, attracting the attention of the whole group. De Lancie turned to her, eyes wide in surprise. He clearly not expected her so soon, and would surely bathe her in compliments had she actually arrived later, especially after she carried out his dirty work of poisoning the crusaders’ water supplies. Did the man really think his words tricked anyone?

 

“Ah, Cat, there you are. We’ve only just started negotiations.”

 

The woman did a reverence, equally graceful and mocking, to all the attendants to the meeting.

 

“Then, by all means, continue,” she said.

 

Marshal Nederlok of the Flaming Fist spoke for the first time, his hardened features as somber as his voice.

 

“She wants you, Cat,” he said. “She says she’ll disband her army and surrender if you go with her. Sounds too good to be true, doesn't it?”

 

Well, at least someone in that godsforsaken place had some common sense.

 

“Listen to me, Cat,” Caelar addressed the witch. “The lost souls of the Dragonspear dead need a hero. That hero is you. Join me, and together we shall liberate the souls trapped in the Nine Hells.”

 

Cat crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. Caelar Argent, so self-righteous and pure. There was no way there could be only light to her… and if there was, her right hand Hephernaan was doing a hell of a good job in dimming it.

 

“You're up to something, Caelar. If it were that simple you would have just asked for my help instead of drumming up an army and sending assassins after me.”

 

Those words seemed to get to the aasimar. Her cerulean eyes glowed just a little brighter, and she clenched her fists in fury.

 

“You know nothing of me, godling,” she spat. “You have no idea of the compromises I’ve made, the people I lost, to stand here today. If you did, you would not be so quick to condemn me.”

 

“What about my friend Imoen, then?” Cat shot back. “What about the mayhem you’ve caused in the name of your oh-so-righteous cause? You claim to be the light against my darkness, but all I see is hypocrisy. You care nothing about anything but your precious crusade.”

 

One of Caelar's generals, a winged aasimar called Ashatiel that Cat had seen during her first face to face with the Shining Lady, stepped forward to speak to her superior.

 

“I told you, my lady,” she said, raising an accusing finger against Cat. “Boareskyr Bridge was an omen. This—this _person_ cannot be trusted. You cannot rely on her to do the right thing.”

 

Cat was sure that the only reason Ashatiel had bothered to use the word “person” was because Caelar had already chided her for having used less agreeable epithets in the past.

 

De Lancie raised his hands defensively with that stupid little smile of his, eyes cold and scheming despite the supposedly sympathetic gesture.

 

“Please! There is no need for such inflammatory language. We’re all working toward the same end here. Unpalatable compromises must sometimes be made, for the greater good.”

 

Stonehand lowered her head in what looked a lot like shame.

 

“I… I agree with de Lancie.”

 

There went her honor. Down the drain, like all principles when faced against more urgent priorities. If life had taught Cat something, it was that there was no such thing as complete integrity. Everyone had a price. Be it gold, fame, or loved ones, but none of those fools who claimed to uphold the principles of goodness were ever able to live up to them to the extents they claimed they could. The woman casted a furtive glance at her group. They were all ready to fight, if needed be. All of them had much more to gain by her side than with any of the present opposing forces. That was the good thing about outcasts; they stuck together, because they didn't fit anywhere else.

 

Nederlok looked as if someone had just slapped him.

 

“You what!?”

 

The man had been a fighter for the whole of his life. Though his courage would one day undoubtedly cost him his life, it had also been his guide throughout the years. Though he did not seek conflict, he was a man of war, the kind that would rather die with a sword in hand than wither away with time. Of course he would not support Caelar's proposal. Stonehand stood her ground, however. The shame that had laced her face when she agreed with de Lancie was replaced with defiance and determination.

 

“Oh, don’t waggle your finger at me, Nederlok! You’ve got troops to spare. My militia’s fifty souls strong, and I know them all by name.”

 

There was it, that was that woman's price.

 

“I know their families,” she continued. “Daggerford answered the call, but do any of you care about us? The hells you do.”

 

 _Smart woman,_ Cat thought despite her situation.

 

Fortunately for her, Nederlok wasn't going to go down without a –this time, metaphorical– fight.

 

“Use your brains, both of you!” He exploded. “We can’t agree to this. The reports from Baldur's Gate said someone paid for the hero’s blood on a sword. Now Caelar wants the hero under her control. I don’t like it.”

 

“Yeah, I didn't like it either when they came for me,” Cat intervened, studying the state of her nails in an act of disdain towards the people involved in the parlay. “You’d think I’d get used to it after my lovely brother put half the Sword Coast's ruffians on the chase after me, but it still kind of… _angers_ me when it happens. Whoever orchestrated this one,” her eyes darted to Hephernaan, who stared back with those raven eyes of his, his face indecipherable, “is not going to like having angered me.”

 

Everybody stayed silent for a short while. They all knew well who they were dealing with and what she was capable of. Cat enjoyed their fear with a smile, until a visibly distressed Caelar broke the silence.

 

“Someone in Baldur's Gate paid for the Bhaalspawn's blood? Why?” Then she turned to the devil hiding in priest's clothing. “Hephernaan, what can this mean?”

 

The man smiled at Caelar in the way a father would to calm a scared daughter after a nightmare. She was completely under his thumb, and Cat understood that she needed to expose him before he executed his plans, whatever those may be.

 

“Calm yourself, my lady. It is likely a coincidence, unrelated to our plans. Appeal to the child of Bhaal,” he gestured towards Cat. “Make her understand the importance of cooperation.”

 

Cat glared at the man, if he could be called that at all.

 

“Was the cabal of necromancers I encountered in ancient ruins underneath Dragonspear also a coincidence?”

 

“What are you speaking of?” De Lancie asked with a gasp.

 

“Just what you heard. We found them in a ruined dwarven city, offering souls to the Fugue Plane and turning their bodies into undead soldiers… for the Crusade.”

 

That statement erased Hephernaan’s annoying smile off his face.

 

“Why do you choose to blame the Lady’s hand in every misfortune that has befallen you, Bhaalspawn?” He shouted, losing his composure. “The Crusade does not dabble in the dark arts of necromancy. Nor does it seek needless bloodshed. All my lady asks of you is to live up to your reputation of the hero of Baldur’s Gate.”

 

“If it’ll save the troops—” General Stonehand began.

 

“What Caelar plans for the hero may be worse than loss of life,” Nederlok interrupted her. Cat was really beginning to like the guy. “I understand your position, Stonehand, but you must see that cooperation could end in a bigger disaster than a battle… especially after hearing the hero’s reports.”

 

 _Game over, Caelar,_ Cat thought, leaning her head to the side to cover a smile with her long hair.

 

“It pains me to say it, but Nederlok is right,” de Lancie sighed in an overly dramatic fashion. “This time,” he quickly added when he noticed the bewildered look in the Marshal’s face. “Though I’d happily sacrifice the Bhaalspawn’s life to end this war, we don’t know what sending her off with Caelar means.”

 

“Thank you for the touching display of support, de Lancie,” Cat shot back, sarcasm evident in her tone.

 

“It is nothing personal, Cat. I just do what I think is right,” he replied, stretching the edges of his ridiculous pointy moustache.

 

_Or rather, what you think will save your sorry ass._

 

“Time is now our enemy,” Caelar cut them off. “If someone else seeks the Bhaalspawn… I cannot wait any longer for you to see the light. What will not be given freely must be taken.”

 

“As you command, my lady,” Hephernaan replied with a reverence.

 

Instead of drawing weapons, Caelar’s group began to retreat. She lingered a little longer, staring down at her enemies.

 

“When next you see my banner, it will be at the head of the army that marches on you,” she said. “For righteousness. For justice.”

 

“You forgot to say ‘for my huge, shiny ego’,” Cat shouted at her as she left.

 

Nederlok shot the witch a death glare that she gleefully ignored.

 

“So be it,” he said. “Everyone, back to camp. Prepare for an attack.”

 

“May Tymora favor us,” de Lancie sighed. “Cat, I hope you are worth what you just cost us.”

 

“You know I am,” she replied with a bright smile, enjoying how poorly he was trying to hide his fear.

 

“So it is war then, after all…” Sonehand sighed.

 

As they returned to the camp, Cat thought of the meeting, of everything that was said, as well as everything that wasn't. Back at Baldur's Gate, someone had paid for her blood. Of course, it could be understood in a metaphorical sense, like Nederlok had. But then, the Barghest wanted to gift his Lady Cat's blood. By then, she mocked him and figured it was just a boast. But at Dragonspear Castle’s underground depot, Hephernaan commanded his forces to give him her blood, specifically. And the hooded man just wouldn't shut up about divine blood. If there wasn't a patron there, then Cat would give up and be back to be called Cattleya. However, there was an issue that bothered her a little more at the moment, even though she was aware that she should be considering the importance of the crusade needing divine blood for something. She casted a furtive glance at Dorn as he walked right in front of her. He really was huge compared to her small height, but it suited her just fine. She sighed.

 

 _I guess I’m not getting laid tonight,_ she sadly thought.

 

* * *

 

“Are you certain we should be doing this?”

 

Dorn was silenced by Cat’s ardent kiss as she deftly unhooked the last of the bracers in his chest piece.

 

“Of course we shouldn’t,” she replied as her hands explored underneath the man's shirt as she tried to take it off, enjoying the hardness of those well defined muscles at his abdomen. “But we’re doing it anyway, because we can.”

 

“Good answer,” he murmured against her neck before biting it, as his own hands searched under the woman's robes, leaving reddened trails on her thighs with his claws as he slowly raised the garment.

 

“The camp is under attack!” Viconia's voice came from the outside.

 

Cat sighed and let go of the blackguard as he grabbed a piece of his chestplate, muttering a curse.

 

“I guess it was to be expected,” she said as he put his armor back together.

 

“Do you have any regrets?” He asked as he found one of his gauntlets.

 

Cat shot him a sly look, with a smile to match it.

 

“You know I don’t.”

* * *

 

 

Chaos had taken over the coalition camp. Soldiers ran around while officers shouted orders. Viconia was with the rest of Cat's group. It seemed that Edwin and Baeloth had been “preoccupied” as well, judging from the love bites the former had all over the right side of his neck and the latter’s unusual state of disarray, with his robe half open and his silvery hair completely undone.

 

“We are expected at the south end,” Viconia announced.

 

Cat nodded and led the way. The southern defenses were composed by several specialized units, a priestess and a rather angered mage who was examining a barrier made of barrels.

 

“I’m Andrus,” she introduced herself without bothering to extend a hand. “You couldn't have come in a better time. You see, when Phossey refined those explosives into the barrel of Bwoosh!, she was left with highly unstable, toxic residue. We were thinking of using it as a weapon against the crusade, but if the fire reaches the barrels, we'll all be killed.”

 

“So I guess it’s up to us to prevent them from reaching the barrels,” Cat sighed. She had hoped to actually enjoy some action, but it seemed that she wouldn't be moving around too much. Had she known, she would have stayed with Dorn in her tent.

 

“In the meantime, I will stabilize them as best I can,” Andrus replied.

 

Cat knew that she could probably do it a lot faster and better than the other woman, but said nothing. She wouldn't miss whatever little battle there was to be had for the world. Which begged questioning…

 

“So, if you are tasked with the barrels, who is in charge here? We are going to need to set up a strategy.”

 

Suddenly, every soldier, every leader of every unit, turned to her. The priestess and Andrus were looking at her, too, waiting.

 

“Wait, really?”

 

Andrus shrugged.

 

“All of the commanders are at the north of the camp, fending off the bulk of the attack and overseeing their troops. No one here is as experienced in battle as you, so that makes you the leader, we guess.”

 

It was fair enough. Cat couldn't contain a tiny smile. She was definitely beginning to like wars. Perhaps if her half-brother had been more willing to share and less willing to have her killed, they could have been raising hell together all over the Sword Coast at that time.

 

“All right. Then I need to know the forces I count on.”

 

“Garrus, to serve you, my lady,” a man armed with a finely crafted ebony bow stepped in her direction. “In addition to my archers, you’ve got a unit of wizard slayers, one of warmages, and… well, let's call them special operations.”

 

A woman who wore dark leather armor and a cowl that covered her face giggled.

 

“‘Special operations’. That makes stabbing people on the back sound so glamorous…”

 

Andrus interrupted the assassin leader, glaring at her all the while.

 

“I have set messengers around the perimeter. If the crusaders make it to this area, they will let us know.”

 

“Well done,” Cat said. “So all that's left to do is wait for them to strike.”

 

A messenger ran to them, almost out of breath, followed by a group of undead creatures; drowned in blood, ghouls, skeleton archers, tattered and bladed skeletons, shadows, wights, and bonebats. The priestess, Viconia and Dorn got ready to turn them, but the messenger raised his hands for everyone to listen.

 

“Cat… these… creatures arrived shortly after the crusade attack,” he explained between pants. “They say they are here to aid you, in the name of someone called Coldhearth.”

 

“Oh, right,” the witch replied nonchalantly, “that lich owed me a favor and promised to help, so I guess this is what he’s sent to us.”

 

The woman ignored the bewildered looks of her troops. They definitely did not like the idea of having undead creatures around, but they were sure to prove useful, and they needed as much help as they could get. Besides, it wasn't like she cared much about those people’s opinions; the battle would be over soon.

 

In that moment, the priestess who had tried to turn Coldhearth's undead approached the mage with tiny, timid steps. She wore the robes and symbols of Ilmater.

 

“My name is Dosia. Please, come to me if you need healing or restoration. The divine powers that The One Who Endures grant me will allow me to rejuvenate you as if you had enjoyed a full rest, but I may only use it twice before I die, as it draws from my own vital force. Do not worry about my fate, though,” Cat did not worry at all, but let her keep speaking nonetheless, “I am happy to sacrifice my life for the righteous cause we defend.”

 

Viconia whispered something in drow to Baeloth, and they both broke into low chuckles. From hearing and trying to imitate them, Cat had learned a few words from her companions’ native language, and had recognized some such as “idiot” and “masochist”. The mage thanked the priestess, doing her best not to laugh. And then, they waited. And waited. And waited. Some of her troops were nervous or scared; she guessed they’d be the first to die. Her companions, on the other hand, were ready. Viconia recited her prayers to Shar as Edwin paced back and forth. He hated waiting as much as Cat did. Baeloth was humming a tune he heard from the Luskanite skald Safana had recently seduced. The woman had approached one of the bulkiest wizard slayers and began to chat him up, possibly trying to get him to buy her expensive goods if he survived the battle. Dorn was uncharacteristically calm. Normally, he would be fuming at having to wait for the fight to come, instead of running right into it. But right then, he was fully focused on checking the status of his weapons, armor and magical equipment. When he caught Cat’s furtive glance, his whole attention shifted to her. She smiled and sauntered in his direction.

 

“Are you ready?” She asked him, half teasing him at seeing him so preoccupied with his gear.

 

“It matters not if this attack was already announced,” he replied in a low tone, so that only Cat would hear. “The crusaders have interrupted something I was yearning for, and now they shall answer with their blood.”

 

“I’m glad to see you so motivated,” the woman replied, tilting her head to the side and revealing a very recent reddened mark on her neck, the sight of which brought a wicked smile to the blackguard's face.

 

“For what exactly?” He inquired.

 

“You already know…”

 

“Trolls! Trolls coming from the west!”

 

Cat rolled her eyes.

 

“Alright. Archers! Ready your arrows of fire,” she commanded with a confident smile. “This is going to be fun.”

 

“I hate trolls,” Dorn mumbled as he took out his crossbow, knowing well what Cat’s strategy for the fiends would be.

 

* * *

 

“Ugh, my hair’s going to stink of burned troll for weeks,” Safana complained as she sniffed a lush auburn lock.

 

“Well, look at it on the bright side, this was easy,” Cat hummed as they returned to the meeting point.

 

Andrus kept working on the barrels and cursing the gnome who decided to make crazy experiments on them. The rest of Cat's forces cheered on her victory while keeping their distance from Coldhearth's fiends, which in turn stood as far as they could from the small fire pit where the living warmed up their chilled bones. It had been set up at a safe distance from Phossey's toxic waste, but Andrus casted a death glare to it from time to time to stress out her disapproval of its existence. Dosia rushed to the battling group, but found –with some disappointment– that they had all returned unscathed. Out of all crazy faiths Cat had encountered during her journeys, she found Ilmaterians able to make Cyricists look sane.

 

Fortunately, Cat did not have to suffer the madwoman’s presence for long. Soon, another messenger arrived, announcing an attack from the center of the camp. This time, they were being defied by wizards, so Cat took wizard slayers with her group. The leader of the mages pronounced some vaguely menacing words thought out to lower his enemy's morale, but they just made Cat yawn in boredom and give the Weave Cleavers their signal to spring into action. Some chose direct combat, along with Dorn and Viconia, while others used quick weapons like bows and arrows or darts, which, along with Safana's arrows of dispelling, disarmed the enemies completely, leaving them helpless against Cat, Edwin and Baeloth's own offensive spells. In the end, the wizards were just like the trolls; hardly worth Cat’s time.

 

Just like before, Dosia was awaiting her “heroes’” return, but this time, Cat allowed her to use one of her two available rejuvenation spells. The four magic wielders of her group had used up a reasonable amount of spells, and she wanted all of them to refresh their abilities for the combats to ensue. Without magic, none of them were out of the ordinary fighters, or even worse. She would _not_ relive the horrible experience they had lived at the dead magic zone.

 

After the rejuvenation process, Dosia was exhausted; her face was pale, her cheeks sank into her face, showcasing the cheekbones above; her hair whitened. Another such spell could, indeed, kill her, so Cat decided to be careful, not so much because she cared about the priestess’ fate than because she preferred to save her last spell for a critical moment. Feeling refreshed, Cat looked around the rest of her troops; she had used up two of her units, who had exhausted their own resources, though there were no casualties so far. She was good at this.

 

“Warriors at the east side of the camp!” A messenger announced.

 

That one was easy, too. If there were warriors, there would surely be clerics, too; so Coldhearth's forces were not an option. And backstabbing tended to get a lot harder when your knife had to pierce through a full plate armor. And most fighters were idiots who took too many hits to the head and would be easily charmed. So the answer was clear.

 

“Warmages, with me!”

 

It was a wonder what fear, hopelessness and confusion spells could do to a group of well seasoned fighters. The clerics, however, were harder nuts to crack, but that was what Dorn and Shar–enhanced Viconia were there for. The warmages’ offensive spells did the rest against the helpless warriors who cried in corners or ran for their lives. The night was lit up with the scarlet light of magic missiles as one by one, their enemies fell. Dorn and Viconia were a little more battered this time from facing several foes at a time, but it was nothing that some potions and healing spells from the Sharran priestess could not fix. When the group was back with Andrus, she announced with glee that she had _finally_ managed to stabilize the barrels and that it would be best for Cat and her remaining units to go north to join Marshal Nederlok in battle. At last, an actual fight. That time, she’d bring the undead with her and leave the assassins to protect the south end of the camp, in the unlikely case some crusader units made it there.

 

When Cat and her companions arrived at the north entrance of the camp, they saw the mayhem of the brunt of the battle; burned tents, corpses scattered everywhere, blood, guts, broken weapons and armors, loot just waiting to be taken –and they took it fast–, the sound of spells piercing the air, the metallic clank of steel against steel, the odor of smoke, blood, sweat, salt and dust… and Ophyllis lying on the ground with a sword through his chest.

 

“C-Cat,” he struggled to say, “Cat, I…”

 

“I suppose you _still_ don’t have my money,” she cut him off, afraid that he’d die if he kept speaking. Dying before handing him _her_ money that was in _his_ custody and that _he_ lost.

 

“I… I had it, I swear,” he weakly replied, “but I lost it again. Those damned crusaders stole the chest… sorry.”

 

Cat sighed.

 

“I promised you would meet a horrible death if you didn't give me my money back, but I guess someone was faster than me.”

 

“Grimgor…” he stopped speaking to cough up some blood that Cat cleaned from her face with a twist of her sleeve, scrunching her nose in disgust. “He stabbed me… with my own sword. Take it.”

 

“Uh, I’m no expert at the healing arts, but won’t that make your hemorrhage worse?” Cat asked, arching an eyebrow in confusion.

 

“For the love of Shar, Cat,” Viconia threw her arms in the air in exasperation. “This man is lying on a pool of his own blood. Taking the sword from his chest or leaving it will make no difference at this point. He’s dying.”

 

“I know… it’s not enough payment…” Ophyllis said, a trail of blood falling from his mouth, “but it might help you… protect you… in battle…”

 

“Well, thank you, Ophyllis,” Cat nodded. “You did the best you could, I guess.”

 

The man smiled at the witch, and then his head fell to the side as he drew his last breath. Cat wasted no time in pulling the sword from him. It had a weak enchantment, but she could probably get a good prize from it if she sold it to Belegarm… if he was still alive, to begin with.

 

“Well, I guess my fortune’s lost forever now,” Cat shrugged. “Let’s go kill some crusaders, then.”

 

It didn't take them long to find a small group of eight elite warriors led by an orog who was armed to the teeth and very pissed at the sight of Cat.

 

“The camp still stands?” He gasped in indignation. “IMPOSSIBLE! Crush these unworthy peons where they stand.”

 

“Darling, the only peons here are you and your group of morons, and you are much more likely to be crushed than us… or burned, or struck by lightning, or…” Cat turned to her group. “Guys, how would you rather kill these idiots?”

 

“What? I am GRIMGOR, commander of Caelar's elite! Who dares to defy me?”

 

 _Grimgor, huh? I guess I’ll be avenging Ophyllis after all,_ Cat thought, an eyebrow raised in surprise.

 

The orog’s pale eyes widened with realization.

 

“The Hero of Baldur's Gate. You are known to Grimgor. Your head will make a worthy trophy for Caelar after I’m finished with you,” he growled, raising a flail stained with blood to the handle, undoubtedly thinking it would impress or intimidate Cat.

 

 _At least this one isn’t after my blood,_ Cat thought.

 

“Go on and cut my head off,” she defied him with a bitter chuckle. “All it’ll get you is a pile of glittery golden ash!”

 

As the elite soldiers charged into battle, led by Grimgor, Dorn rushed to meet them, accompanied by a group of undead that surely surprised the enemy group. While Viconia casted holy power to aid in the melee combat, Grimgor held a holy symbol of the orcish god Gruumsh and repelled the undead forces, even destroying the tattered skeletons and the weakest shadows. He was met, however, with a brutal hit of Dorn's greatsword that smashed his helm, making him lose focus on his prayers. Safana readied her arrows of dispelling to pierce through the mages’ protections while Cat, Baeloth and Edwin focused on eliminating a hobgoblin archer, as those were keen on using poisoned arrows. It didn't take long for him to fall.

 

Viconia joined the battle at the front line and made her mace collide with Grimgor's flail, both weapons becoming entangled. The massive orog pulled with all of his might, but instead of freeing his weapon, he lifted Viconia off the floor. With a roaring laughter, he swinged her around as she let go of her shield and held onto her weapon with both hands for dear life. Just as Dorn tried to assist her, her shield fell right in front of him, forcing him to jump back to avoid a hit. Then, he felt sharp pain at the side of his left thigh, and turned to find a smirking assassin, twirling her poisoned dagger in her hands. Or at least, she did until he decapitated her with a strained groan. Searching in his backpack, he found an antidote that he downed in one go, not wanting to waste any more time.

 

At the backline, the mages exchanged spells and curses as Safana used some of her best arrows to try to take Grimgor down. Cat’s natural fear ability had made the rest of the warriors freeze, so now they could focus on the mages. However, one of them was a powerful abjurer who quickly restored the others’ protections, forcing Edwin and Baeloth to keep undoing his work while the other two enemy mages used fire spells to kill the bladed skeletons and the wights. It was just not working; they weren’t fast enough. Suddenly, a shadow came over Cat; at first she thought it was a confused undead, but when she looked up, she saw a screeching Viconia falling her way and colliding with the mage, making both women fall to the ground. The priestess muttered a curse in drow as she rushed back to her feet, in order to recover her lost mace and shield.

 

“Leave Grimgor!” Cat shouted at her. “You and Dorn take down the abjurer!”

 

Viconia turned to nod and raced back into battle, collected her lost equipment while crouching to avoid a swing of Grimgor's flail, and ran in the abjurer's direction. As his companions chased away and burned the bonebats, he chanted a dispel focused on the still terrorized fighters that Cat held at bay with her Bhaalspawn powers. The drow priestess turned to Dorn, who was engaged in a brutal fight with Grimgor.

 

“The abjurer! We need to take him down!”

 

Drawing the power of his patron, Dorn casted an aura of despair. It only mildly affected the priest, but the distraction was all he needed to leave and go face the mage. With a tremendous blow of his greatsword, the abjurer's spell was cut short, along with his hand. Viconia took than chance to hit him with her mace on the back of his head, making him fall to his knees. From the back, Cat watched the scene unfold with satisfaction.

 

“Now!” She shouted. “Dispel those bastards’ protections!”

 

Safana, Edwin and Baeloth quickly got to work. Their opponents became so distraught by losing their defensive spells that they stopped attacking the surviving bonebats and drown in blood altogether, in order to pull a counteroffensive. The cloying scent of enchantments filled the air, and Cat knew it was time to strike.

 

“Dorn, Viconia, retreat!”

 

At the woman's command, the pair left the broken body of the already dead abjurer and ran back to her side as a dire charm tried, in vain, to break Viconia's steel will. Grimgor, who had been healing himself from the wounds Dorn had given him, roared in outrage.

 

“COWARDS! YOUR HEADS SHALL HANG FROM THE CASTLE WALLS!”

 

Safana took out her “special” arrows while Cat, Edwin and Baeloth recited their spells. The orog was now busy helping the mages eliminate the remaining undead. Cat nodded, it was their cue to attack.

 

Orog’s holy symbol flew from his hand as an arrow of detonation struck it. That, combined with three massive fireballs, turned the battlefield into an inferno that made Cat and her companions fall back to avoid breathing the smoke that burst up in the air from the multiple explosions. Once said smoke cleared off, after a good while, they checked with glee that all of their foes had been, indeed, roasted to death. As well as the group’s undead allies. Well, Coldhearth would surely not mourn them, anyway.

 

Advancing further, Cat encountered a satisfied Marshal Nederlok. Good news.

 

“Well done, Cat,” he congratulated her with a slight nod of his head. “There are still some battles at the east and west of the camp, but the bulk of Caelar's forces has retreated to the castle.”

 

Cat understood what that meant.

 

“It’s time to strike.”

 

“We’ll never get a better chance than now, indeed,” Nederlok agreed. “Gather your belongings and whatever you may need, and meet me and the rest of the siege commanders at the entrance of the castle. With the barrel of Bwoosh!, penetrating it should not be a problem.”

 

He then dismissed the group and left to account for his troops. Cat crossed her arms and smirked at her companions.

 

“Well, you already heard that. It’s time to put an end to the Crusade.”

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well? Please to tell me your thoughts, you know how much I appreciate your feedback. You make my day with every little comment! Sorry if this chapter lacked much interaction between Cat and Dorn, but these are the final battles and the end of SoD, so I am putting some focus on the story as well. Want to keep practicing action scenes, too! Don't worry, you'll all eventually get what I KNOW you want ;)


	10. The end of the siege

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The coalition army marches against Dragonspear Castle, and Cat gets ready to confront the Shining Lady and Hephernaan. Also featuring one of the last in-game dialogues with Dorn, and lots of explosions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to this new chapter of Strangeness and Charm! It's taking me more than I originally thought, but the next chapter is almost ready, which means there would be only one more to go. I really hope you enjoy this one. There is some canon divergence in the dialogues with Caelar, all meant to bring out some development to my character, and because Caelar's ending annoyed me, so I've decided to make her a little more sympathetic. Sue me. JK I hope you enjoy this!

* * *

 

They arrived at the castle just as dawn showed from behind it, turning the sky into a pale lilac with luminescent strips of clouds that showcased hues of orange and pink. From the west, where the coalition was attacking, the night was yet to give into daylight. The silence that had covered the land through from dusk was broken by hundreds of pairs of boots moving in unison toward a shared destiny: Dragonspear Castle. The defenders greeted the invaders with arrows and spells from the battlements, but they failed to notice the objective of the first line of combatants. Under a group invisibility spell, a small group of alchemists led by Phossey, the proud inventor of the barrel of Bwoosh!, took the stabilized explosive barrels and placed them at the western entrance of the castle while the crusaders were busy attacking the front line decoys –a strategy devised by no other than de Lancie, of course. Before the enemy knew what was actually happening, the explosives blew up, provoking a chain reaction with the underground barrel of Bwoosh! that created a breach which destroyed the gates and allowed the coalition troops to take the castle outer courtyard by storm. Such was the scene that greeted Cat and her companions’ arrival. Marshal Nederlok, who was overseeing the whole maneuver, greeted them with a bow of his head.

 

“The Bwoosh! plan has worked as predicted,” he explained.” But we have encountered a few problems; Caelar has rounded up her best mages to set up a magical barrier at the castle entrance, and we cannot penetrate it.”

 

“Adhzekharrin,” Edwin drawled. “Such  a work reeks of him. We will need something as powerful as the Bwoosh! itself to penetrate his defensive spells.”

 

“She has also sent what remains of her forces to fend off our attack. We know she has a catapult on the east side of the bailey, and I have no doubt she has sent someone to get it ready.”

 

“If she uses it with the coalition troops concentrated on one single point, she could deal massive damage,” Cat reasoned. “But if we somehow managed to gain control of it, perhaps we could use it to breach the magical barrier and enter the castle.”

 

Edwin nodded in agreement. 

 

“That should suffice.”

 

Nederlok seemed pleased at the mages’ words.

 

“Now all we need is to find another way in. We won't reach the catapult on time from the western breach.”

 

Then, Cat remembered something Skie had “found out” during her “investigation” of the castle.

 

“The eastmost walls are vulnerable… do we still have any explosives left?”

 

“I shall call Phossey and her group,” Nederlok replied. “From then on, you and your companions will be on your own until you destroy the barrier and join our forces. Good luck.”

 

Cat nodded and waited for the alchemists to show up. The plan bordered on suicidal, and even after blowing up the walls they’d surely encounter a heavy surviving resistance, but she’d been at worse odds before. Reunited with the alchemist, the whole group approached the damaged eastern wall. The crusaders had tried to enforce it with wooden planks, but those could do nothing against a well placed explosive. There were archers defending it, but a couple fireballs quickly solved that minor inconvenience. Phossey and her team placed the barrels and instructed everyone to get the hells away from the wall. The structure burst into pieces, leaving an opening for Cat's group to access the castle. 

 

They were welcomed by a group of orc mercenaries who were guarding the same troll cages Cat had seen at the crusader camp at Boareskyr Bridge. The creatures cried and pleaded for the group to free them, but first they had to go through the orcs –literally, with Safana's arrows and Dorn's greatsword; and figuratively, with the spells the rest of the group casted to confuse their enemies and turn them to one another. After watching the carnage in reverie, Cat commanded Safana to open the trolls’ cages. The woman looked at her as if she had grown two heads.

 

“Are you sure it’s a good idea?”

 

“It is certainly not,” Dorn grumbled, remembering how insufferable the creatures’ company had been during his imprisonment at the crusaders’ camp.

 

“Yes, it is,” Cat retorted in a tone that admitted no replies. “Open the damned cages. Now.”

 

With more than a little reluctance, the thief worked the absurdly simple lock the cages had. It could not be opened with brute force, but simply inserting a picklock did the trick. The trolls, however, did not move.

 

“Uh… you’re free,” Cat told them.

 

The trolls were still frozen in place.

 

“I told you it was a waste of time,” Dorn gruffed, glaring at the creatures, which just stumbled about their cage, not bothering to get out.

 

“Well then, we’ll be leaving,” Cat told the trolls, wondering if they were even listening. “You can, you know, kill some crusaders on your way out.”

 

Even after opening the west gate that led to the catapult, the trolls just stomped around, confused as if someone had cast a spell on them, though that was certainly not the case.

 

By the time the group arrived, the catapult was ready. There was a young man moving it into position. He noticed the opening of the gates –as if anyone would miss such an explosion– and jumped from the machine to face whoever came out.

 

“Who comes?”

 

Cat greeted him with a cheery smile and a wave of her hand.

 

“Hi, my name is Cat. You may know me as 'the hero of Baldur's Gate’ or 'the Bhaalspawn’,” she said, her grin amplifying with the young man’s terrified expression. “You see, I think that catapult is not well positioned… you should turn it east, two hundred degrees. If you wish to keep your head on your shoulders, that is.”

 

“O-of course, my lady,” the impressionable man stuttered as he climbed on the catapult to turn it as Cat indicated. She smiled, and began twirling her sling with her left hand.

 

The massive rock destroyed the castle barrier, the gates and the surrounding walls, instantly killing all of the mages defending it. Caelar, though stunned, stood again to oversee the damage and find a better viewpoint to monitor the attack.

 

“Oh, no,” the man who actioned the catapult gasped. “What have I done?”

 

As tears streamed down his face, he drew the crossbow he had and put a quiver in it. Just as he raised it, targeting Cat, she released the bullet she had been toying with, which collided with his head and made him lose his balance and fall from the catapult. By the time he was back on his feet, a mace smashed his helmet, a greatsword tore through his armor and flesh, an arrow took his eye, a dart pierced his throat and another bullet sent him back to the floor, this time never to get up again. Cat threw her head back and cackled with wicked laughter, revelling in  the group's great accomplishment, but her joy was short-lived. An arrow whistled by her ear, grazing the skin on her left cheek. She touched it, and her fingers were slick with her own blood. Crusaders were coming from the north. To the south, others approached the catapult shouting battle cries for their Shining Lady. The coalition army itself was pushing them in the group's direction; they had to break through their files and join the main forces, or they'd surely die.

 

“Fall back!” She shouted. “To the south!”

 

She tried to disband their chasers with a fear spell as the others moved forward, while Edwin and Baeloth used hopelessness spells to cut a path through the crusaders who attacked them from the south. Cat raced to join her companions as Dorn slashed anyone foolish enough to try to cut their path. They spent as little time as possible actually fighting to avoid ending up surrounded. At last, Cat saw Flaming Fist Banners and rushed to meet them. The coalition army was pushing the enemies with all their might, and once she joined them, Cat used up the offensive spells she had been saving to eliminate the most dangerous threats, as Dorn and Viconia chased after mages and clerics. Safana joined forces with Cat while Baeloth kept trying to enchant the enemies and Edwin sent summoned creatures against them. Caelar's troops were thinning in mere heartbeats. It seemed that the poisoned water had had its effects on them. From the corner of her eye, Cat saw de Lancie, carrying the biggest shield she had ever seen.

 

“Cat, I am glad to see you live,” he greeted the witch. “And I can tell you have successfully completed all of your missions underneath the castle.”

 

“And I see you don’t have a single scratch, how fortunate,” Cat retorted, observing that not even dirt had reached the commander’s shiny armor.

 

“Let us leave idle arguments for later, shall we? There is something you must do,” he replied, frowning at the accusation. “We have broken the magical barrier, but we can’t enter the castle until we have taken down the outside forces. Their general, Ashatiel, is leading their defense from the northwest. The crusaders’ morals are already low; if you defeat her, I am certain they will disband and flee. Will you do this for us?”

 

“A suicide mission? Of course! Death before boredom!” Cat sneered, “but I never liked Ashatiel, so I’ll kill her anyway.”

 

“May Tymora be with you.”

 

_ No, thank you. I don’t like her either,  _ Cat thought.

 

So they were going back north. But this time, they had an army right behind them to support them. Cat made sure not to put too much distance between her own group and the coalition; they were all going to get out of that castle alive, and maybe literally kicking. As soldiers collided with one another, Cat and her group advanced carefully, killing whoever got in their way, in search for the general. Northwest. The woman had wings; perhaps she could draw her attention in some way. Soon, the witch found what she was looking for. To the west, she saw the group of elite warriors who had assisted to the parlay at the Dead Man's Pass with Caelar, Hephernaan and Ashatiel. She pointed at them.

 

“Let’s kill one of those. The mage, preferably.”

 

Safana shot her arrows of dispelling at the enemy while Cat eliminated any further protections the man had casted upon himself with magic of her own. Baeloth tried a hopelessness spell, in case any of the mage's friends tried to protect him, and Edwin convoked an ettercap right on his nose. Just as Cat supposed, Ashatiel made her entrance, flying all over the courtyard to stand in front of her group, locking eyes with the Bhaalspawn.

 

“ENOUGH! Crusaders, stand down! STAND DOWN OR BY THE LADY, YOU’LL ANSWER TO ME!”

 

Every unit ceased the fight immediately, and the coalition army ensued. Edwin raised a questioning eyebrow at Cat. She nodded in response, and shrugging, he motioned for the ettercap to wiggle back to him. Cat approached the winged woman and crossed her arms, waiting for her to say her piece so she could keep slaughtering her forces.

 

“I am Adras Ashatiel, right hand of the Shining Lady. I know you, Bhaalspawn.”

 

Cat knew Ashatiel, too. She knew that she believed to be close to Caelar, but the Shining Lady listened only to Hephernaan. Also, she hated Cat’s guts.

 

“What can I say? I am awfully famous,” the mage replied, shrugging.

 

“Some call you a hero, but I know what happened at Boareskyr Bridge,” Ashatiel snarled. You will never fight with us, though our cause be righteous.”

 

“I fight for my own causes and my own purposes. No one else’s,” Cat replied. She began to feel tired of the woman's accusations. She reminded her a bit of Gorion.

 

Ashatiel opened her arms. She wielded a mace and a shield.

 

“I will bring you to the light, and prove that ours is the side of honor and virtue,” yes, that was exactly something the old man would have said. “Face me, one on one. If you defeat me, my soldiers and I will surrender to you. Do you accept?”

 

An ominous green aura covered the aasimar, and she fell to her knees, gasping in surprise. Cat nodded at Safana, who shot an arrow of fire that lit up some of the general’s feathers. Cat grinned; she had managed to lower the aasimar’s natural resistance to fire, ice and acid. Ashatiel glanced up at the witch in pain, confusion and outrage. Cat pointed her chin up, arms crossed.

 

“No, Ashatiel. You can’t distract me with a challenge cloaked in righteousness. I’ll destroy you and all your followers here and now.”

 

Ashatiel stood once more, pointing at the Bhaalspawn with her mace.

 

“You now see her cowardice, her falseness! She is but an aberration who must be dest—”

 

Three Melf’s acid arrows pierced three different spots of her wings, making feathers fall about. The smell reminded Cat of the chicken she had roasted at the wishing well.

 

“Finally! I thought she was never going to shut up,” she groaned, preparing a domination spell for an enemy gnoll that was rushing their way, enraged at the offense committed by the Bhaalspawn. “Let’s kill all these people.”

 

Viconia casted another holy power spell before joining Dorn to fight Ashatiel. In the meantime, Edwin sent his ettercap against a dwarf who was approaching them. Safana shot him, tearing part of his braided beard and scratching his neck. Cat succeeded to dominate the gnoll’s mind –not that there was much to dominate, anyway–, and made her turn against Ashatiel as well. Baeloth sent multiple magic missiles to the mage they had been attacking before, making him fall. A cleric tried to undo Cat's enchantment, but his spell was cut short by an arrow and more magic missiles, this time courtesy of Edwin. The last of Ashatiel’s allies tried to drive Dorn away from her, seeing that her general was barely able to contain his violent strikes, but he cut her in two with a tremendous swing of his sword. Ashatiel cried out for her lost friends, the distraction allowing the enchanted gnoll to strike her, leaving her gravely wounded… though not incapable of flight, not even despite the missiles that had impacted on her wings.

 

“Enough of this nonsense!” She shouted as she took off before any of her foes could strike.

 

Everyone was momentarily taken aback by the aasimar's flight, but Safana readied another arrow of fire and aimed at the juncture between her wings and her back. However, Ashatiel dodged the arrow by diving to a side.

 

“Don’t lose focus of the others!” Cat shouted, trying to get her group to get back to battle before someone took the chance to hurt them.

 

Just as the words left her mouth, a shield fell from the sky, forcing Edwin to jump to a side in order to avoid a possibly fatal hit. He muttered a curse; his focus had been broken, and his summoning monster spell was lost. However, that paled in comparison to what happened next. Ashatiel, quick as a falcon, grabbed Cat’s waist and raised her, flying away from the battlefield while holding the mage with a firm and strong arm.

 

“I shall end your evil here and now!” Ashatiel shouted as she raised her mace.

 

“Oh, no, you won't.”

 

Suddenly, a sphere of fire appeared in the air, where Ashatiel and Cat once flew. It was like a miniature sun.

 

“A sunfire spell,” Baeloth understood, and grinned. “Sneaky.”

 

“Cat!” Dorn saw the woman free falling, drained the life of the dwarf he was fighting and finished him off with a strike that spliced his spine.

 

The blackguard ran at top speed to catch the falling woman. Edwin saw him and rolled his eyes.

 

“There is no need to worry. She is probably going to use an—”

 

Light radiated from Cat, and a transparent sphere, similar to a bubble, enveloped her and cushioned the impact, bouncing back and forth with the giggling witch inside.

 

“Otiluke’s resilient sphere,” Edwin finished with a sigh. “She is not a complete fool after all.”

 

Every single set of eyes was on Cat, and the burned corpse of Ashatiel. She looked back at the coalition arm and her companions.

 

“Well, what are you waiting for? Kill them all, now!”

 

After that brief moment of awe, her allies sprung back into action, swiftly taking down the remaining members of Ashatiel's group. Soon, Marshal Nederlok announced the retreat of the crusaders. Cat, however, decided to check the northernmost area, just to be sure. She sent an invisible Safana to scout the area, and she reported a small group who still tried to resist. Still cocooned in her sphere, Cat walked right into the group, who quickly tried to attack her while she ran back to her waiting companions. She gestured Edwin and Baeloth.

 

“Baeloth, I need you to cast a detect invisibility spell. They’ve got an assassin with them, and she's going to give us hell if we don’t finish her off first. Edwin, could you please dispel this sphere before the other mages? There's something I need to do.”

 

Both spellcasters obliged. Baeloth's spell made the whole area glow with a strange purple flash, and suddenly, a woman who was about to slit Viconia's throat while she and Dorn fought off the warriors came into view. She took a potion of invisibility from her pouch, but as she was about to quaff it, Edwin dispelled Cat’s sphere… as well as the opponent mages’ protections. Cat took her wand of paralyzation and aimed it at the assassin, smirking with the certainty of victory.

 

“Not so quick, darling.”

 

* * *

After taking everything of value that they could find at the outer courtyard and selling it to Belegarm, who was still alive and doing business, the group proceeded to raid the castle. Since the main entrance was too full of debris to use it, it was necessary to find an alternative way in. Which meant climbing up an ancient dragon skeleton that hugged the castle in a protective embrace. While it lived, the creature had undoubtedly been equal parts majestic  and terrifying. Cat almost felt bad for using its spine as an improvised ladder. Once inside, the group searched for Caelar… and anything of value. Aside from rather interesting books on the nature of devils and the most efficient ways to fight them, they found the remainder of Cat's missing fortune in a chest, apology note from Ophyllis included. The idiot could not even keep that one. Whatever. It was Caelar Cat was after, but she was nowhere to be found. At least, not there, at the highest level of the castle. Which meant they had to go lower. Jolly.

 

Back at the basement, there was still no sign of Caelar. They had even found her personal chambers –Cat had made good on her promise of allowing Safana to steal her robes, but as the thief had predicted, there was nothing that satisfied her fashion sense; quite the contrary, indeed–, and no one had caught sight of her. So they kept going down, level after level, until the group found itself back at the basement where they had poisoned the crusaders’ water. The last time they were there, they hadn't got a chance to make a thorough exploration, so Cat decided to stop a moment to look over there. She found the food supplies –no point in poisoning those anymore… at least not for the time being–, and a rather luxurious chamber, with fine fur rugs, a bed covered in fine linens and surrounded by crimson velvet curtains… an empty cage which could have held a dog or a cat, and… an altar covered in blood and gore.

 

“Made for sacrifices and devil worshipping,” Dorn confirmed after a quick inspection. “Could this be the darkness hiding behind Caelar's righteous glow?”

 

“Hephernaan,” Cat confirmed. “I know he’s been working for someone else, and collaborating with the hooded man… you don’t happen to recognize to which devil this altar is devoted to, do you?”

 

Dorn shook his head.

 

Cat was tempted to ask whether Ur-Gothoz knew, but last time she had asked if his master could grant him information of any kind, he had cut her off by stating that the devil only communicated  _ his  _ needs and missions to Dorn,and whether he approved of his actions. Nothing else. An unequal relationship if she ever saw one, but it was not her place to question it. She knew Dorn understood the price he had paid for his diabolical power, but she could only hope he would one day question himself whether it had been worth it.

 

“There is little else for us here,” she said instead. “Let’s move on.”

 

As they walked towards the stairs, the ghost of a dwarf appeared in front of the group, who got ready for a fight. But the ghost seemed awfully happy.

 

“At last! At last you have freed me from that devil’s clutches!”

 

“Uh… what?” Cat asked in utter confusion.

 

“I am Daeros Dragonspear, founder of Dragonspear Castle. I have been bound to the plane of the living by that snake, Hephernaan,so I could tell him how to open the sealed vault that guards the portal to the Nine Hells. But you have freed me!”

 

“Pardon the question, but how did we do that, exactly?” Cat asked, raising an eyebrow, still dumbfounded by the ghost sudden apparition.

 

“When you stepped over here, you erased the glyphs he drew on the floor to bind me,” Daeros Dragonspear explained, pointing at the floor. Indeed, there were mystical inscriptions, now half vanished under the group's boots. “Now I am free to leave the realm of the living, at last!”

 

“Oh, that's cool, I guess,” Cat replied, still a bit perplexed by the strange encounter. “You're welcome and all that.”

 

As he began to fade, Daeros stared into Cat's eyes with sudden rage.

 

“Hephernaan plans to open a gate to the Nine Hells, I heard him speak of it to the other one, at the altar,” he revealed. “But to do so, he needs divine blood. He tried with that aasimar first, after sweet talking her into her senseless crusade, but her blood was too diluted by generations, and it was not strong enough. Hephernaan got furious that day, but the woman did not suspect a thing, the poor fool.”

 

Divine blood… of course. Now everything made sense.

 

“What about a demigod’s blood like, say, a child of Bhaal?” Cat asked, already knowing the answer.

 

“I suppose it would work, yes,” Daeros replied. “I must leave now. The Fugue Plane calls to me… do me a favor and kill that rat for me.”

 

“I will,” Cat promised, more determined than ever to stop Hephernaan.

 

It wasn't Caelar. It had never been her. Cat knew that she was being manipulated by Hephernaan, but only then did she understand the extent of his deception. She thought Hephernaan the king of chess hiding behind a powerful queen, but the Shining Lady was nothing but a pawn in the end.

 

“Let’s go,” she commanded her allies.

 

* * *

 

Further into the basement, they found Corporal Duncan, accompanied by several mages who were casting spells on a particularly huge ipe wood gate, ornated with scenes of past Dragonspear wars that depicted dragons soaring the sky, breathing fire all over the land, and devils kidnapping the innocent while brave crusaders fought to free them. An eternal reminder of what had been lost in that place.

 

“Cat, we believe Caelar is behind this door,” Bence Duncan spoke, “but she is not alone.”

 

One of the mages turned to the witch.

 

“We sense powerful illusory spells coming from that door, but we have managed to unlock it nonetheless. Be careful if you wander in there, and trust nothing that you see.”

 

Cat could feel it, too. Deception and lies swept from the little gap under the gates. Whether that was just an illusion work or also the reek of Hephernaan's camouflage, Cat couldn't tell, but she was certain he would be there. It was no matter, she had read through the book about devils to know exactly what she was to expect, and the castle did have some supplies specialized in fighting such creatures, like potions of fire resistance.

 

“We still should get some rest and prepare spells, we have used up a lot at the battle before,” Cat suggested.

 

Duncan sighed.

 

“I know it’s probably for the best, but don’t dwell too long. The more we wait to strike Caelar, the more ready she will be to resist us.”

 

“It matters not. We will be better prepared as well,” Cat replied.

 

_ Without me, they are trapped in there,  _ she thought.

 

This time, Cat devoted her time to her spellbook, rather than trying to take Dorn into bed. There’d be time for that when they won the war. And though he hadn’t admitted it, the blackguard was going to need some rest as well; it wasn't like he had come from the battle completely unscathed. Everyone needed to be refreshed and focused. Besides, by doing that, they'd force Hephernaan to repeat whatever illusion spells he had used, so he’d count on less resources to face the group. Time passed, but no movement was reported from inside the vault Duncan kept watch at. Caelar had probably reunited her best warriors and taken the opportunity of the unspoken truce to rest as well, though her group would surely be less comfortable than Cat’s. The witch hoped they would all wake up with a knot in their backs from sleeping on the floor.

 

After their well deserved rest, Cat and her allies joined Duncan and his soldiers, who were still positioned at the gates of the vault.

 

“Are you ready for the final fight with Caelar?” Duncan asked.

 

Cat nodded.

 

“Let’s finish this once and for all.”

 

As Duncan commanded his elite group to move, Viconia approached Cat.

 

“Are you certain you should come? Hephernaan needs your blood to open the portal, we cannot risk that happening.”

 

“He won’t open the portal if I get Caelar to see that he’s been using her all along,” Cat explained. “I don’t think she’ll listen to anyone but me, so we might as well try.”

 

Viconia nodded.

 

“Besides, there is no way I’m going to stand behind like some helpless damsel in distress and miss all the action,” Cat added, grinning from ear to ear.

 

The drow priestess returned the smile.

 

“I knew you would say something like that.”

  
  


* * *

 

The vault was a round stone room with ancient inscriptions on the floor, some almost already erased by erosion and time. Caelar and Hephernaan stood in the center of it, seemingly alone.

 

“Alright, Hephernaan, dispel this illusion. I know you two aren’t here alone,” Cat drawled.

 

With a simple hand gesture, Hephernaan undid the occultation spell that hid Caelar's surviving elites who had retreated into the castle with her. Caelar took a couple steps forward. So did Cat. They were at an arm's length, measuring each other.

 

“And so we reach the end of a long, long journey,” Caelar finally broke the silence. “If you only knew the sacrifices I made to bring us to this point. All of them worthwhile.”

 

“That's actually a matter of perspective,” Cat replied. She was certain that the refugees and all who had fallen to the Crusade did not think it worth a damn.

 

Bence Duncan spoke as if he had read Cat’s thoughts.

 

“Many soldiers gave their lives to stop you, Caelar. Their sacrifices are the ones that matter.”

 

“Change is upon us,” Caelar continued, ignoring the man. “Great and righteous change. You’ve come to face me, so do so! Now is our time.”

 

“Great and righteous change? More like betrayal and a horde of hungry devils,” Cat replied. “Don’t you see, Caelar? Hephernaan is using you! He has been whispering lies in your ears so you would do his and whoever-his-master-is’ bidding.”

 

“Why would you turn against my right hand now?”

 

_ Now how does that feel, Ashatiel?  _ Cat thought.

 

“Because it’s rotten. He is not who he claims to be. Have you not been in his chambers? Seen the dwarven ghost of Daeros Dragonspear himself… or the bloody altar he speaks with?”

 

Caelar hesitated. Hephernaan was about to reply, but Cat would not fucking have it.  _ He  _ was the one responsible for that clusterfuck of a war.  _ He  _ was the one who had hurt Imoen and brought her into that conflict she had wanted no part on.  _ He  _ was the one who would pay.

 

“Let me take a few wild guesses,” Cat said, crossing her arms. “He’s the one who suggested you to send assassins after me.”

 

“It was just to bring you here unharmed! You saw what it did to your friend, and I already apologized for that!” Caelar exclaimed, losing her usual calm and confident demeanor.

 

“Noted. And all the while, he sent assassins outside anyway in case the others failed, so he could have my blood one way or another.”

 

Hephernaan's lips trembled with rage. Cat dedicated him a brief smile before continuing.

 

“Now, that nasty guy, the Barghest… who was it that brought him to your cause, when he was a veteran of the Dragonspear Wars who had fought for the other side?”

 

A brief silence.

 

“It was Hephernaan,” Caelar breathed. “He told me he had managed to make him see the light…”

 

“Of a mountain of gold, I assume,” Cat retorted. “Now, where were we? Oh, right! Remember what I said about the necromancers? There was also a rather hammy evil druid who had a weird thing going on with this tree he had corrupted. Just like the necromancers, he confessed to be working for Hephernaan.”

 

“I… knew nothing of this. Hephernaan denied the Crusade had engaged in the dark arts of necromancy.”

 

At that point, Hephernaan stopped trying to get a word through.

 

“Also, the spirit of Daeros Dragonspear told me of his plan to open a portal to the Nine Hells. I would have brought him here to confirm it, but I kind of accidentally released his soul.”

 

Caelar lowered her head, doubt evident in her frown.

 

“I…”

 

She turned to Hephernaan. He returned the stare, silent as a grave and unmoving as stone. Cat turned to Edwin and Baeloth. The former murmured a curse, and the three began to formulate a counterspell for whatever magic the devil was crafting in his mind.

 

“I’m sorry, Cat,” Caelar replied, closing her glowing blue eyes, perhaps to hide the regret. “But it is too late for me to back down now. I have a mission I must accomplish; an oath I must keep.”

 

Hephernaan's hands glowed, and an aura as bright and blue as Caelar's eyes enveloped the whole area, temporarily blinding everyone. Cat, Edwin and Baeloth felt their combined spells vanish as their bodies stopped responding to their will. They had been paralyzed. And so did the entire occupants of the room, except for Hephernaan, as well as Corporal Duncan and his forces, who had stayed back, safe from the spell's area of effect. However, when they tried  to move and help Cat and her companions, they found an invisible wall of sorts that barred them entrance to the area of the spell. Caelar stared at the devil, realization hitting her like a brick, though it was too late.

 

“Hephernaan?”

 

The devil sneered at the helpless aasimar.

 

“How distressing for you, to find out the truth this way. You’ll just have to stand and watch as MY plan reaches fruition.”

 

“Why? Our goals align, we both want to enter the Nine Hells,” she cried out, trying with all her might to move the sword arm, to no avail.

 

Hephernaan laughed. It was a cold, cruel sound, devoid of any feeling but sadistic satisfaction.

 

“No, my dear lady, they don’t.”

 

“Then what is your plan? What are you doing?”

 

_ Fool, don’t you see it already?  _ Cat thought, also trying to get rid of the powerful paralyzation spell.

 

“You’ll find out soon enough, my puppet, once the devils begin their march into this world.”

 

After his reply, Hephernaan walked in Cat's direction, with a dagger in his hand. He took her own hand in a mocking gentlemanly manner and drew the sharp edge through her palm. The witch found the inability to wince in pain due to paralysis extremely irritating. When the first drop of blood hit the floor, the whole room was set alight in flames of colors Cat could not name. Hephernaan stood triumphant in the middle of the maelstrom.

 

“Bleed, Bhaalspawn! Bleed for my master!”

 

Corporal Duncan and his troops watched the scene in utter horror.

 

“Gods help us all, they’ve opened the portal to the Nine Hells!” He turned to his soldiers. “Out, everyone! Get out and get the vault door locked NOW!”

 

A Fist raised an unsure hand towards all of the paralyzed people in the vault.

 

“Sir? What about…?”

 

“Leave them,” Duncan cut him off. “There's no time—we have to secure the door immediately! Devils could flood this place any second!”

 

Bence Duncan and his soldiers left, locking the door behind them, and with a smile, so did Hephernaan, disappearing through the flames of the portal. Soon, Cat began to recover the ability to move, as did everyone else. Caelar stared down at the portal, distraught and broken.

 

“Hephernaan… what have you done?”

 

Then, she turned to the crusaders who had remained by her side, who had now recovered the ability to move as well. They stood ready, waiting for their Lady's orders even after witnessing her right hand betraying her. She had a determined look in her eyes. There was no stopping her anymore.

 

“I will not let him corrupt our work by bringing forth an army of fiends! Crusaders, with me!”

 

One by one, they all crossed the threshold into the Nine Hells. Cat stared at it, a circle of flames of colors she had never seen before and would unlikely see again. It was beautiful, in a way that only someone with a mind as twisted as hers would appreciate. She caught sight of Dorn, the flames reflected in his dark eyes. Perhaps they would encounter his master in that place?

 

As it usually happened, the blackguard noticed the woman's stare on him and got closer. This time, however, it did not make her nervous, but eager. After their last heated encounter, they had found no time to themselves. Though it was the choice of both to focus on the battles ahead, the growing amount of unresolved sexual tension and definitely unfinished business between them was really frustrating her. They hadn't even seen each other naked yet. Not fully, anyway.

 

“Avernus,” Dorn's words pulled Cat away from her thoughts. “It was inevitable. The path I walk could only take me to one Hell or another.”

 

“The aim is just to visit, not take up permanent residence,” the mage reminded him with a chuckle.

 

“If all goes well, we will return,” he said. Then, his expression turned somber. “If not… then permanent residence may be a possibility.”

 

“Well, then, aren’t you just a bright ray of sunshine,” Cat scoffed, rolling her eyes. Okay, so they would be in a nightmarish land, facing horrors that would make most mortals go insane. So what? The devils had manipulated Caelar and brought Cat into that mess, and she would sure as hell get out.

 

“At least when I die, I will be provided for,” Dorn continued, ignoring Cat’s words. “I will while away eternity in the service of Ur-Gothoz, and I will wreak havoc in the Blood War in his name.”

 

“The Blood War?” Cat asked, full of curiosity for something most people would prefer never to even hear of, as was usual to her.

 

“The Blood War is the endless battle between devils and demons,” Dorn explained. “At times, both have had the upper hand, and I’ve no doubt we will soon meet one of the major powers in the war.”

 

_ And slay it,  _ Cat thought. She wondered if whatever devil they were facing and Ur-Gothoz would be allies… and what that would mean for Dorn. However, instead of voicing her concerns, she circled his waist with her arms, not caring anymore about devil allegiance technicalities, or about who was watching them.

 

“If we must go to the Nine Hells to end this, then we will,” she said, her intense gaze fixed on the blackguard's, hoping to transmit him her determination. “And we will triumph.”

 

Her words, her tone, her stare… they stirred something in the half-orc. He turned to look at the flames, and then at the woman he now held in his arms.

 

“The fire of the portal reflects the darkness of your soul,” he said, barely a whisper, as he inched closer to the mage. “You and I are of one kind, Cat.”

 

Smirking, Cat put her hands on Dorn's broad shoulders, and then brought one up to his scalp, to caress his ear in the way she had learned it ignited him so… He closed his eyes and let out a low, deep rumble from his throat. When he opened them again, Cat could see the desire right through them.

 

“My orcish blood burns within my veins,” he murmured in a husky tone, leaning into Cat’s ear as he held her closer still, gloved hands fixed on the small of her back, putting on delicious pressure that made Cat sigh. “If we do not take action soon, I will be forced to either kill something or throw you down before me.”

 

Cat stood on her tiptoes, grasping the man's shoulders for support so she could whisper back in his own ear. He took the opportunity to quickly caress her behind, which almost made her lose her balance.

 

“I think you know which of those two options I’d prefer,” she purred, delighting in the feeling of those hands roaming about her body, leaving fire upon contact.

 

Dorn gently pulled away from her so they could be seeing each other eye to eye. He had that wicked grin that made Cat's heart stop.

 

“As we lack in both time and privacy, I will satisfy myself with but a taste of you before tearing our enemies to pieces.”

 

Then, he kissed her. He kissed her like the world was about to end, which perhaps was, but that one and any other issue stopped mattering in the moment Cat felt Dorn's hot tongue against hers, bold, aggressive even. She raked her nails down the back of his neck and moaned into the kiss as he trapped her lower lip between his fangs, with just the right amount of pressure to drive her crazy… Their passion was only cut short when somebody cleared their throat.

 

“I hate to interrupt such a lovely display,” Viconia drawled, “but devils are about to pour out of this literal hell hole unless we do something about it.”

 

Cat reluctantly let go of Dorn, who walked away gruffing and mumbling profanities about meddling priestesses.

 

“Edwin, Baeloth, you too,” the drow barked.

 

The two spellcasters stopped their also rather heated smooching, the former to glare at the woman and the latter to let his lover go with a dreamy sigh. Safana, who had been watching the whole scene with amusement, turned to Viconia.

 

“Want to try, too, for luck?”

 

The drow rolled her eyes and gave her a quick peck on the lips.

 

“You might get more later if we survive this,” she added with a smirk.

 

“Alright,” Cat said, stepping toward the portal. “Now that we have all kissed and our morals are high, I say we go slay some devils.”

 

Dorn unsheathed his greatsword and roared.

 

“Through the portal! Into the flames!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge chapter, long ass battle, long dialogues, little interaction with Dorn again... though I hope you enjoyed it. There will be A LOT more in either next chapter or the last, I still haven't fully decided yet. I am writing these pieces of SoD story because without them, Dorn's last dialogues make little to no sense. And also to further develop Cat. As for the trolls, it's something that actually happened in my game; I killed the guard and let out the trolls, but they'd just roam around in their cage asking me to free them. The fuck was that.
> 
> As always, I will be (im)patiently waiting for your feedback, you have no idea how happy it makes me whenever any of you pop up around here to leave kudos or tell me their opinion. It is always, always welcomed!
> 
> See you on the next one. I know some of you have been feeling a little under the weather lately, like me. Keep fighting, my darlings, just know that I am here for you. If you need to talk, rant, or let it all out, I am on Tumblr as Avandra (yup, I'm original), or Thank Azar it's Friday. You'll find me under any of those. Take care of yourselves and remember to love yourselves, you are all worth it and deserve nothing but the best.


	11. No strings on me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cat descends into Avernus in pursuit of Hephernaan and his master, eager to put an end to their schemes. Caelar is walking the same path, but she is walking it alone. The final battle is about to take place, but a secret the Shining Lady has been keeping could change everything.
> 
> tl;dr: Huge ass battle, bad bad devils, Cat is so done with everyone, Caelar keeps being stupid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is almost the end of Siege of Dragonspear! For those interested in the game, there are pretty big spoilers ahead -not that you haven't read quite a bunch aready, but still. Also, I have changed some bits of dialogue to better suit... well, Cat, and everything that takes place. This part of the game didn't make much sense to me, to be honest, so I hope you like this retelling. Enjoy!

* * *

 

Avernus had a special charm. Endless chasms of darkness, the languished yells and desperate cries of the damned, the reek of brimstone and rot… And fire surrounding it all. The First Hell’s inhabitants only contributed to the picturesque image of their home; grossly viscous lemures, abishais of every color –actually, only black, red and green–, tiny and pesky imps, and graceful hellcats who loved to turn invisible to play with their victims. There was a bunch of them, led by a major devil of feminine appearance, with leathery wings and sharp, serrated teeth. They were busy tormenting some crusades, until the devil lady noticed Cat and her group. Her evil grin extended in a way that no mortal grin could, and she sent some of her lemures, abishais and hellcats after the adventurers.

 

“Alright, like we practiced!” Cat exclaimed, taking out a wand of lightning she had recently purchased from Belegarm.

 

Dorn and Viconia attacked the lemures while Baeloth erased the hellcats’ invisibility from a prudential distance. Safana aided the front line fighters with her arrows, and Cat and Edwin moved together, searching for the perfect spot… She nodded at him, and he chanted a spell while she got her wand ready. Two lightning bolts dashed through the rot-stinking air, striking down the imps and the abishais. Dorn and Viconia turned their attention to the hellcats, who proved to be rather pesky when invisible and kept Baeloth busy revealing them again and again. Thankfully, the crusade commander was also helping… until Dorn slashed through his armor?

 

Cat then noticed the leader of the devils cackling with laughter. The witch facepalmed.

 

“The potions of clarity… I knew I was forgetting something!” She turned to the other mage. “Edwin, can you dispel that before—WHOA!”

 

Edwin was aggressively swinging at her with his dagger. So he was under the devil’s control, too?

 

“Baeloth! Please tell me you haven't been charmed too and dispel their enchantments!” Cat shouted.

 

The sorcerer concentrated as Cat dodged Edwin's assaults as she tried to target the now visible hellcats with her wand while Viconia smashed down the lemures with Safana's aid from the distance.

 

“This task is tougher than I thought; the tramp who tricked our teammates’ thoughts is clutching them with tremendous strength!” Baeloth exclaimed.

 

“Keep trying, I’ll take care of her. Safana, with me!” Cat ordered while kicking Edwin in the groin to temporarily incapacitate him. It felt oddly satisfying, perhaps because she had been wishing to do so for quite some time.

 

The thief aimed, and her arrow shot in company of another lightning bolt that impacted directly on the devil. Now it was the hellcats’ turn. Since they had surrounded Viconia, it was too risky to use another bolt, so Cat switched to her sling. Thankfully, they were already pretty battered, so with the help of Baeloth's detect invisibility spells, they took them down as well. Now, there was only one problem left to solve, and it was the fact that the crusade commander was still fighting Dorn. While Baeloth and Viconia tried to dispel his and Edwin's mind control, Cat risked getting close to the brawling men, at least to get the crusader to stop attacking the blackguard.

 

“Stop! He’s with me. He’s under a mind control spell that should wear off soon,” Cat shouted at the man, trying to get his attention.

 

She grabbed the crusader’s arm and ran away with him, hoping Dorn would not follow them. He didn't. It seemed that the dispelling spells were finally beginning to work.

 

“You have saved my life,” the man gasped. “Thank you so much for—”

 

“Cut the crap. Where is Caelar?” Cat interrupted him. There was a time and a place for compliments, and that was definitely not it.

 

“The Lady… we tried to follow her, but we fell behind… she has gone mad with rage! She wants to face the devils alone!”

 

“Oh, we are  _ so  _ not going to let her have all the fun,” Cat replied, looking back at her group for support. They all looked more than ready to took a stance against whatever devil Hephernaan was serving.

 

“Hadn't we been defeated, we would be here, standing with an army, able to save all those lost souls,” the crusader lammented. “But Hephernaan betrayed us, and now only a few of us remain.”

 

“We’ll take care of him right away. Where was Caelar headed?” Cat asked.

 

“There is a bridge not far from here that leads to a gray stone tower. When last I saw Caelar, she was making her way toward it in pursuit of Hephernaan,” the man explained with a sigh.

 

Cat turned to see it. The building was an architectonic impossibility, but then again, so was everything in Avernus, as far as the witch could tell. Turrets emerged from the sides, positioned in all sorts of nonsensical directions, the structure of the tower itself was twisted like an old man’s spine, and of course, an ominous aura poured from it. It was similar to Dorn's aura of despair, but if it were his patron they were going to face, the blackguard would have long been warned of his plans and would have never targeted a member of the crusade. No, Ur-Gothoz surely cared nothing about whoever it was that dwelled in that tower.

 

“You mean that dark, sinister tower yonder?” Cat replied to the crusader, pointing at the edification with her thumb. “I don’t suppose there’s a less ominous and foreboding tower in the area, by any chance?” She made a pause to sigh. “No, of course not, that would be too easy. Alright then, off I go.”

 

“Wait! What about us?”

 

Cat blinked.

 

“What about you?”

 

“We no longer have the Lady by our side, we do not know what to do… should we go after her?”

 

“Why are you asking me? Do whatever you want; I doubt you’ll last long in here anyway,” Cat replied in annoyance, walking away to reunite with her group, making sure that no one was under a spell anymore.

 

The bridge, indeed, was close to the group's location, though space and directions appeared to work in a funny way in Avernus. Like they were completely nonexistent. Part of its charm, probably. It was lucky that one of Dorn's diabolical powers was immunity to fear, and that Viconia's magic chainmail granted the same protection to those around her, because the closer they came to the tower, the more effectively intimidating it became; the more twisted its shape was. The protruding turrets looked now like misplaced sharp, serrated teeth, ready to chew any mortal soul that dared trespassing the dark gates that granted entrance into the tower, where unknown horrors awaited.

 

“I mean, the mind tricks are great and all, but it’s just basalt, not like we haven't seen anything like this before,” Cat said, rolling her eyes.

 

“If you look a little lower,” Safana interrupted the mage's observations, “you’ll see Caelar right there.”

 

“Let’s follow her, then,” Cat replied, beginning to walk.

 

“And we might as well do it fast,” Viconia intervened. “Look at the ground!”

 

The ground of the bridge was beginning to melt into lava. There was no order needed; the six companions sprinted towards the basalt tower. At the entrance, Caelar spoke to her troops, or rather, her troops tried to talk some sense into her, only for the woman to almost attack one of them and then refusing to listen and entering the tower nonetheless, claiming that she would keep the oath she once made, with or without her crusaders. The pack of sheep followed her uninterested shepherd, who led them into the tower, and undoubtedly to their deaths. Cat ran after them, but the ruby gates closed practically on her face. To her immediate right, a teleportation circle opened, and a really cheery devil came through. Everyone drew weapons, but the fiend raised its… arms? ...paws? in a defensive gesture.

 

“Peace, everyone! I have come to greet the Bhaalspawn,” he said. He had a really stupid voice for its impressive appearance; leathery golden skin covered in scales, long limbs, horns all over its head, mean, tiny red eyes and wings that doubled the ones of the devil lady they defeated before.

 

“You have gone far, Cat,” he addressed the witch. “But Thrix the Profane’s master would have you go no further… for now.”

 

“I’m afraid I’m on rather a tight schedule at the moment,” Cat replied, gripping her wand of lightning. “So if you’d be so kind as to step aside, I’d really appreciate it.”

 

Thrix fell into a fit of laughter. He laughed for a good minute, and for one fleeting moment, Cat thought she had actually manage to convince him to step aside.

 

“Fellow fiends!” He cried out. “Attend Thrix! Tear this one apart, that he may see what it is made of!”

 

A trial by combat it was, then. More abishais, lemures and hellcats made their appearance, but that time everyone in the group had consumed their potions of clarity, so at least they had the mind control part covered. Cat, Baeloth and Edwin were quick to eliminate the weaker lemures, who fell with simple magic missiles. Dorn and Viconia tried to get rid of the hellcats before they became invisible, but the damned devils were too fast. Baeloth was quick to solve the problem with a spell to detect invisibility, while Safana shot the abishais and stayed close to the spellcasters, in case they needed protection. In the meantime, Cat was thinking, searching…

 

“Dorn, Viconia! Move left!”

 

The pair obeyed while the witch casted a look at Edwin and they walked together to the chosen spot. Right then, a hellcat attacked Baeloth, but not before he could dispel their invisibility. Dorn and Viconia ran to the sorcerer's aid. Cat and Edwin exchanged looks and nodded at each other. She drew her wand, he chanted his spell. Two lightning bolts departed their position to fry the abishais and two of the hellcats alive, bouncing on the wall and coming back to flash through them once more.

 

“Our cue to run!” Cat shouted.

 

She and Edwin avoided the bolt by inches. She could feel the back of her hair standing due to the static. However, most of Thrix’s forces were dead now. Safana shot an arrow through a hellcat’s throat just as it was vanishing again. Seeing the half invisible corpse of a devil was definitely a strange sight, one that Cat would remember as a great anecdote, but which would give a more sane person nightmares. The group easily finished off the surviving abishais, not bothering to waste any more magic. Once the short battle was over, they heard clapping from their backs. Thrix had a horn to horn grin and looked more than pleased at the display of devil corpses around Cat and her companions.

 

“You fight well. Thrix the Profane is impressed.”

 

“Does that mean you  _ will  _ open the door for us, after all?” Cat asked, rather doubtful about the glee the devil exhibited.

 

“Thrix’s master bid him bar all but the Argent, for a time,” Thrix explained, his unholy voice somehow sweetening. “And Thrix would not want to disappoint his master. UNLESS…”

 

_ Now’s when it’s about to get dangerous,  _ Cat thought, tightening her grip on her wand of lightning.

 

“If Thrix believed his master would not be his master much longer—if he believed YOU might slay his master—then Thrix might allow you passage. Master has been most vexing since the business with the Crenshinibon. Thrix is weary.”

 

Cat huffed at the devil’s boring tale.

 

“If Thrix REALLY wanted his master to fall, Thrix might offer more assistance than merely standing aside.”

 

The woman's  statement made the devil laugh, which caused her impatience to get dangerously close to its peak. Electricity began to course through her wand, and she needed all of her willpower not to let it free.

 

“You are in the first and greatest of the Hells, little thing,” Thrix replied between chuckles. “Nothing here comes free. But perhaps you might be interested in a wager?”

 

Cat lowered her wand.

 

“Speak,” she commanded the devil.

 

“Thrix has three items that might be of use to one who might storm the basalt tower,” with a twist of his… hand? claw? the devil materialized a long sword, a helmet, and a quarterstaff. “This blade, sharper than the loudest shriek. This helm that cradles the head more softly than a mother does her newborn babe.”

 

Cat noticed Thrix took a very quick look at the staff before describing it to her.

 

“This staff is gnarled and ugly—all but useless. But if you win my bet, it or one of the others would be yours.”

 

“If I take this bet and win, I get one of your items. And if I lose?” Cat asked, fully focused on the devil’s body language. Those creatures were known for their deceptive nature, but she wouldn't fall for Thrix’s tricks so easily.

 

“Thrix will take one of your friends.”

 

Cat froze. Was he really asking her to bet on one of her companions’ souls? She turned to them, unsure. She was aware that they weren't the most trustworthy people around, but they had been useful, they hadn't failed her, and they had shared a fair deal of great adventures. Not just that; they had followed her command, they had followed her to  _ war,  _ and then to  _ Hell.  _ They were misfits, outcasts, unwanted and feared. But together, they were so much more than that.

 

“No,” Cat replied, standing firm, challenging the devil despite how small she was compared to him.

 

“No? You reject Thrix's generous offer?”

 

“No, we’ll do this, but my soul, not one of theirs, will be the prize.”

 

Cat felt everyone’s stares on her. She turned, and saw her companions’ impressed expressions. There was a bit of surprise that offended her a little, but she guessed she would have felt the same way if one of them was to wager their one soul so as not to risk hers. Yet behind those emotions that laid on the surface, Cat thought she saw something else. Pride. Loyalty. Yes, that was the right thing to do, for the people she chose, for those who understood and accepted her as she was.

 

Thrix, on the other hand, was at some point between dumbfounded and elated.

 

“You willingly gamble your own soul? Oh, Thrix LIKES you,” he laughed. “And he agrees—you’ll make a fine addition to his collection. And now, the riddle. You should like this, child of Bhaal. Thrix's riddle was devised for you and you alone.”

 

The devil cleared his voice and began to recite his riddle.

 

“Now tell me what I speak of,” he said.

 

“A useful tool, though most despise it.

In light, it can topple kingdoms, in shadows, it sustains nations.

Paupers fear it daily, kings fear it deeply.

You were born to serve it, but because of it, you will die.”

 

Thrix tilted his head to the side with his grossest smile yet.

 

“What is it?” He asked, urging Cat to utter a quick answer.

 

It was easy, really. Though she agreed not with the last part. And she honestly doubted Thrix had any sort of precognitive abilities, so all he could do was draw conclusions from the path Cat had chosen to follow so far. Which, truth be told, had quite the possibility of leading her to it.

 

“You speak of murder, devil,” was her answer.

 

Thrix clapped his… upper extremities, that is, those which weren't wings, jumping a bit in excitement.

 

“You have answered my riddle. Aren’t you clever? Clever, clever Bhaalspawn. Now choose your prize.”

 

Cat looked at the three objects suspended on the air, deep in thought. None of her companions had actual use for a long sword, it wasn't a weapon they were proficient with. And the helm could be good, but she doubted it could replace the ones Dorn and Viconia wore, tailored to suit their particular needs. And the staff… Thrix had said it was useless… which meant it was nothing but.

 

“I want the staff,” was her final answer.

 

“Really? Don’t you want to rethink your choice?” Thrix looked panicked. “It is useless, Thrix warns you.”

 

“You said the three of these items would help me defeat your master, didn't you?” Cat cut him off. “I choose the staff. My answer is final. Now honor your part of the deal.”

 

Thrix began to growl, closing his… whatever they could be called into fists. Fists with scales and protruding bones that seemed to serve no use other than making the devil look more intimidating.

 

“The staff is yours,” he replied dryly. “Thrix’s master should be finished with the Shining Lady by now. Enter freely, and of your own will.”

 

Then, the devil vanished, and the blood red door opened at last. The six companions looked at one another, ready to take on this one last challenge, and entered the basalt tower.

 

* * *

“Well, this was… unexpected.”

 

Inside the tower was a simple circular room, or at least as simple as walls filled with maggots devouring the spirits of the damned went. In the middle of the room, there was an elevator, more than big enough to fit the legion Caelar originally intended to bring to Avernus, which was strange, considering the tower’s diameter was not that great from the outside. Yet then again, dimensions and measurements stopped making sense in places like Hell.

 

The six companions stepped on the elevator. There was a lever next to it. Cat pulled it, and the machine began to move. The woman had expected some kind of flavor music to pop up, but sadly, the screech of the rusty metal –either that or bloodsoaked– chains was the only sound they were met with. Soon, the entrance disappeared below them, and the group was left in complete darkness, even for those gifted with infravision.

 

“Nowhere to go but up?” Safana sneered. “That would make for a pleasant change of pace.”

 

“Uh, rude,” Cat protested.

 

“Oh, please,” the thief confronted the mage, one hand on her hip and a rather displeased expression. “Did you really think I’d be happy with the way we’ve been doing things?”

 

Cat shrugged.

 

“I thought you liked to be bad,” she replied in a half-hearted apology.

 

“I do,” Safana scoffed, “but I don't enjoy having my name dragged through the mud like it has been happening lately.”

 

“Well, don’t worry about it. Once we’re out of here, we will all be heroes and no one will give a damn about whatever it is that we did before.”

 

“As long as it gets me brand new jewelry and a decent bed…” Safana muttered.

 

Edwin was mumbling to himself about how epic that part of his story would be, and refusing not to come out of it alive. Baeloth, on the other hand, struggled to find an alliteration that could describe the situation. Viconia was praying to her goddess for protection. When she was done, Cat placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

 

“Hey, we’re going to win this fight. You know it, right?”

 

“Of course I don't!” Fear was evident in the priestess’ voice. “And neither do you!”

 

Cat sighed. Of course, Viconia was not one of those people one could cheer up with cheap sweet talking.

 

“No, I don’t,” Cat confessed. “But if you were willing to follow me this far, you must either be crazy or truly believe we have a chance,” the mage tilted her head to the side, with a mischievous smile. “Which is it, Viconia?”

 

The priestess replicated the smirk.

 

“I shall let you decide by yourself.”

 

Cat laughed. Behind that hardened exterior, Viconia was someone who had gone through a lot of pain. It was because of that pain that she did not openly show her feelings, or at least the true ones, though Cat was able to see quite a bit through, and she liked her. The priestess did well to play that way, it would keep her breathing for longer.

 

The truth was that the tortuous ascent on the elevator had already managed to get on everyone's nerves. Dorn began to pace around, which was never a good sign. Cat, in the meantime, thumbed through the pages of the book on devil slaying for the upteenth time, reviewing the strategy in her mind and consulting details with Edwin and Baeloth.

 

Suddenly, Dorn exploded.

 

“This tower will crumble beneath the might of Il-Khan! Assuming we ever escape this infernal shaft…”

 

And then they reached the top of the tower, and the elevator stopped. Everyone shot bewildered looks at Dorn.

 

“Okay, how did you do that?” Cat asked.

 

“Do what?”

 

“It doesn't matter. We have devils to kill, everyone!”

 

The elevator led to a grand salon. Instead of walls, it was surrounded by fire, and the screeches of the damned made Cat cover her ears, at least until she grew accustomed to the cacophony. The basalt floor of the tower was scattered with corpses of devils and crusaders alike. Cat sighed. It seemed that a certain someone had done all the killing before she could. As the adventurers advanced, they found an elegant staircase that led to an overtly ornate throne where a huge, fat, red devil sat, with a grin that showed its serrated teeth. To both his sides, there were humanoid-sized cages, one of them occupied by a man who watched in anguish the fight unfolding before him. To the greater devil's side, Hephernaan stood, smiling with that annoying grin of his.

 

“I’ve read of this one,” Cat murmured, pointing to the devil on the throne. “He’s called Belhifet. He caused some trouble in the area of Icewind Dale eighty seven years ago, but he was wiped out of the Prime Material Plane by some adventurers. Now, remember your potions of clarity and fire protection; we are going to need them soon.”

 

“No!” The man in the cage shouted, making the group's attention shift back to the battle.

 

All of the lesser devils that protected the throne had been slayed, but Belhifet and Hephernaan destroyed the last of the crusaders like they were mere insects. Caelar, however, stood her ground.

 

“You know what I want, Belhifet! Release him!”

 

She charged, shining sword in hand, against the red devil, but he stopped her attack with one of the two gigantic blades he held in each hand, not bothering to even stand up from his throne.

 

“You make a mockery of your uncle’s sacrifice in coming here, aasimar,” the devil spoke while Caelar grunted, trying to push against the unmoving sword. “But I will grant you your wish, after a fashion.”

 

With a flick of his hand, he pushed Caelar off, sending her flying, to fall before Cat's feet.

 

“You and Aun will be together again,” Belhifet announced with glee. “Your cage will hang next to his!”

 

When Caelar struggled to get back to her feet, Belhifet took notice of the new arrivals.

 

“Ah, the child of Bhaal! Welcome, welcome!” He greeted Cat, full of enthusiasm. Of course, he was expecting her as well. “You’re just in time to witness the fall of Caelar Argent.”

 

The woman looked pitiful, indeed. Still in shape to fight it seemed, but her spirit was on the brink of breaking after witnessing the deaths of so many allies and friends… all for Belhifet to shove her off literally single-handedly.

 

“It wasn't long ago I would have taken great pleasure in seeing the Shining Lady brought low,” Cat replied, staring at Belhifet and Hephernaan in defiance. “But now that I know who’s been pulling at her strings and dragging me into this mess, I’m not so sure.”

 

Hephernaan scoffed.

 

“There's nothing you or anyone can do to save her now, godling,” he pointed at the empty cages behind him. “She will hang in the hall of my lord Belhifet, and you will hang beside her.”

 

“Damn you, Hephernaan!” Caelar screamed. “It was your treachery that brought me to this!”

 

The devil turned to her with a condescending smirk.

 

“My treachery and your arrogance, ‘Shining Lady’.”

 

The devil then signaled the cage where the anguished man who had screamed watched Caelar trying to grab her sword and stand once more.

 

“This is the secret of Caelar's crusade, Cat. There is only one soul in Avernus Caelar has ever cared for,” he revealed as he stared down at the leader of the Crusade. “Her uncle, Aun Argent—the man who sacrificed all to save her.”

 

When Cat approached Caelar, the latter was unable to meet the witch's gaze, staring down at the floor in shame.

 

“Is that true, Caelar?” Cat asked in a soft tone that surprised the warrior.

 

“No! I wanted to save them!” She cried out in despair. “I tried, I swear I tried!”

 

Belhifet, who had been silent during the exchange, broke into a fit of laughter.

 

“Now, don’t try to fool us. Even as you say that, even as you tried, you knew in your heart of hearts that you would not succeed. That the Crusade was but an excuse to save the one who occupies the place you should be in.”

 

“No. No!”

 

“Wait, what does that mean?”

 

That was the first time Aun Argent spoke. Even though he couldn't be older than forty, his stay in Avernus had visibly broken him; where it was easy to tell there were once strong muscles, only skin and bones remained. His cheeks were sullen, his hair had turned completely white. Wrinkles covered the space between his eyebrows, on his forehead, and around his eyes. And his voice conveyed a sadness that was only matched by Caelar's despair.

 

“I am here to replace Caelar when she accidentally got trapped. I traded myself for her, to free her, in hopes that she would never have to step in this evil place again…”

 

Belhifet interrupted Aun’s recounting.

 

“So long I was trapped here, unable to reach the Material Plane,” what would have been a sigh of longing for a mortal became a terrifying sound coming from the fiend’s mouth. “And then this child walked willingly, blindly, into my domain. No mere mortal either, but an aasimar, and an Argent, and mine, all mine.”

 

The way Belhifet called Caelar his repulsed Cat. She would enjoy destroying him.

 

“If she was yours, how does she fight against you now?” She shouted at him, determined to provoke his ire. Which may not be the wisest of tactics, but she herself was furious at the way devils like him treated mortals as mere possessions and rare collectibles. They were just as selfish as the gods.

 

Caelar was the one to answer the question.

 

“I was brought up in the Order of the Aster. My aasimar heritage and the Argent name assured me a place of honor as a paladin of the Morninglord. Or so I thought at the time,” she sighed, a mortal sigh of someone who had given up all hope. “I had such confidence then. Such certainty of purpose. I knew I would rise to greatness, knew it in my bones. All that barred my ascent were my superiors in the Order. They sought to teach me humility; I see that now. But I could not bring myself to bow to their authority. To any authority but Lathander’s, perhaps not even his.”

 

That tale began to sound awfully familiar to Cat. Being brought up in a highly disciplined space, expected to behave and obey, barred from the knowledge she thirsted for, all because of mistrust and suspicion, without actually being given a chance to prove herself despite her obvious superiority that left others at a loss for words. For Caelar, it was for the sake of “humility”. For Cat, for “her own safety”. But the gist of the story was the same for both; they were outstanding women who excelled in their field of expertise, but whose progress was stilled by those who feared their power, their potential, foolishly thinking they would rob them of their authority. As if lesser men like those could exert any authority in people like them.

 

No. They were born to be free.

 

“I was told to watch over the library,” Caelar continued her tale. “To guard the volumes within, for they held knowledge critical to the order’s success in the battle against darkness. I coveted that knowledge. In my arrogance, I read aloud from the pages, not understanding the forces I was invoking… That was how a girl not yet ten years old found herself in this pit, in that cage.”

 

“Arrogance?” Cat was outraged. What had those bastards done to that woman? “You said it yourself, you weren’t even ten!”

 

“We assume your uncle traded places with you, then,” Viconia drawled. She did not seem to care much about any of the Argents’ situation.

 

It was Aun Argent himself who replied.

 

“According to the laws of Avernus, she came here of her own will, so technically she belonged to Belhifet. All I could do was offer another soul, in trade. One without the stain of arrogance. One that was of the Argent line, of a paladin at the height of his powers.”

 

“And all for naught,” Belhifet cackled. “In her arrogance, she came again to save her uncle's soul, only to be trapped instead.”

 

Caelar lowered her face, as if pondering her next move. She would never defeat the devil alone, that was plain to see.

 

“You have defeated me. I see that now,” she took a deep breath before speaking again. “But consider a moment the ways I might be of use to you.”

 

“Caelar, no! Do not do this!” Aun cried from his cage, gripping the bars so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

 

“You would serve me, Caelar Argent? You would be a blackguard in service to Belhifet?”

 

That was it. Cat would not have any of that. Not anymore.

 

“Have you fucking lost your mind, Caelar?” She screamed out at the fallen paladin. “All this time he’s been behind everything you have gone through! He and Hephernaan! And not only you; they have been manipulating me as well, making me believe  _ you  _ were the enemy. I was also stilled from progressing as a child by those with authority over me, Caelar. They feared my potential. Just like those who told a ten year old to watch over a book that could send her to Avernus upon reading it feared what she could become.”

 

Caelar turned to Cat, listening with her full attention, and the witch thought she saw a glimmer of hope in the dimmed blue light of her eyes.

 

“We have both been puppets our whole lives; prisoners of others’ devices who pulled at our strings for us to move to their will. Become Belhifet's blackguard, and you will be nothing but a puppet forever.” Cat wielded her brand new staff. “I refuse to have any strings on me. I choose freedom, and I will destroy anyone who stand in the path  _ I  _ have decided to follow. Will you free yourself with me?”

 

Caelar was at a loss for words after Cat’s speech. Now, the witch could only hope she had got through to her. Not only because of the painful similarities between their lives; but also because neither she nor her companions were prepared to face two devils  _ and _ an aasimar, with complementary elemental resistances, among many other pesky disadvantages.

 

“After everything I’ve done, you would have me at your side…?”

 

Cat offered the fighter a hand in reassurance. She readily held it and then took her sword.

 

“So be it! The child of Bhaal and the Shining Lady will stand together against this devil’s darkness!”

 

Hephernaan shook his head.

 

“You are as arrogant as my 'mistress’, Cat.”

 

Then, he began to transform. His skin became leathery and ochre, his hands and feet turned into paws, and he grew dark, bat-like wings. His face contorted into a mass of horns and yellow eyes with slit pupils. When he laughed, his voice was no longer velvety, but grave and echoing, not unlike that of his master.

 

“And you will share her fate!”

 

With a roar, Caelar raised her blade and ran to meet Hephernaan with a tremendous swing of her blade. The demon shoved her away and she hit the floor, but she jumped right back to her feet with her renewed determination to end the one who had betrayed her trust. Dorn and Viconia went after Belhifet, who finally rose from his throne. He dwarfed every other person in the room, and he towered over his enemies, who, in turn, did not hesitate to attack together from each of his sides. The fiend was able to stop both warriors with his giant blades, though only by a small margin.

 

_ He’s quite slow,  _ Cat thought.  _ We could use that to our advantage. _

 

However, he was also stronger than his rivals. Twisting his weapons, he pushed them away. Dorn slid back, managing to keep his balance, and quaffed a potion of cloud giant strength to surpass Belhifet's physical might. Viconia fell to the floor, though she did not endure great damage. She quickly healed herself before lunging against the titanic devil once more. It was the distraction Cat and Baeloth needed to prepare their spells while Edwin calculated the distance for his own attack and Safana shot her best arrows at the fiend. The two devils grunted, weakened by the two magic wielders’ lower resistance spells. While each of them kept battling their opponents, Edwin focused and signaled Baeloth and Cat to follow him.

 

“This is the perfect spot… or it would be if those two monkeys stopped moving around,” he muttered.

 

Dorn and Viconia were fighting at each side of Belhifet, keeping him busy, while Caelar battled Hephernaan. Her attacks were vicious, and Cat could tell she had spent years perfecting her sword fighting technique. She had barely a scratch, which meant she would probably be alright.

 

“Okay, at once, guys,” she and Baeloth focused their energies, shaping them into what they were about to release. “Now!”

 

Three lightning bolts flashed in Belhifet's direction. The devil was unable to dodge them, busy as he was trying to defend himself from Dorn's stronger attacks after drinking the potion, and fending off Viconia, who had prayed to her goddess for more power still, so she could bring the fiend down. The three bolts impacted on the devil's unprotected chest and bounced back at the same time, reaching Hephernaan… and Dorn, who had been trying to break through Belhifet's defensive position with his sword, and could not escape on time.

 

“Sorry!” Cat shouted at the glaring half-orc as he went back to swinging his greatsword at the literally shocked devil. Thankfully, Viconia ran to his aid and healed the wounds caused by the lightning strike.

 

Hephernaan was not doing better. The bolts left him weakened, and he was barely able to hold Caelar's attacks anymore. He tried to run to his master for protection, but she summoned a ray of light, similar to the lightning bolts Cat, Edwin and Baeloth had casted before, and neared the devil as he cried in pain and fell to the floor.

 

“This is for all the lives lost to your treachery!” She roared as she raised her sword.

 

As the Edge of the Aster tore through the devil’s skin, he screeched in pain, louder than a banshee, and black blood poured from the wound like  a dark fountain. Caelar took a few seconds to regain her breath and stare in awe at what she had accomplished. But her fight was not over. She removed her shining sword from the devil’s body and charged, calling out Belhifet's name. The devil master frowned. He surely hadn't anticipated having to deal with so many foes at once. But he let her get closer. It made no sense. Why didn't he try to shove her away again? Why not getting rid of the weaker Viconia, whose blessings were beginning to fade, and going directly after Caelar?

 

Suddenly, Cat remembered.

 

They didn't have enough fire resistance potions. Viconia was relying on a much more short-lived spell. Which could only mean one thing…

 

“Everyone, get away from him!”

 

It was too late. With Belhifet's booming laugh, most of the room was suddenly covered in a ring of fire, a blazing inferno that trapped the three melee warriors. Unlike Belhifet, Cat knew Dorn was protected against fire, so Caelar, with her natural aasimar fire resistance, wouldn't have to deal with him alone. Viconia, on the other hand…

 

“I’m going after her,” Cat said. “Keep fighting him.”

 

“How? We can’t see the others with those blasted flames!” Edwin complained.

 

“You’ll have to get creative!” Cat replied as she, too, disappeared into the flames.

 

The heat inside the ring was almost unbearable. Cat didn't want to think what it would be like for someone with an armor. She searched through the flames, sweat covering her like rain, her hair clumped to her face. She called Viconia's name once, twice, six times, growing desperate. She couldn't be dead. None of her companions would die. She was her leader, she was responsible for their well-being; she would not fail them.

 

“Cat…”

 

The witch heard the weak voice to her right. She raced to the source and found Viconia lying on the floor, with tremendous burns all over her body. Even part of her long silver hair had been lost to the fire. Cat helped her up, gently placing the woman's arm around her shoulders and grabbing her from the waist, nervously biting her lip when she heard her wince in pain. She casted a strength spell on herself so she could get her out quicker. She had always thought she'd use such a spell to punch someone; she could have never imagined she would strengthen her physique to  _ save  _ someone.

 

“Come on, I’ll get you out,” she said as she began to carry the wounded priestess.

 

“You must either… truly appreciate me… or be really crazy to pull off something like this,” she mumbled with some difficulty, still managing to smile despite her burns.

 

“I’ll let you choose which you think it is… after we’ve won this battle and got out of here alive,” Cat replied, smiling back at the woman.

 

After a tortuous literal walk through the fire, during which Viconia almost fainted and fell to the floor, Cat's quickness being her only salvation, they finally made it through the flames, coughing from the black smoke that spiraled up with no end in sight. Just then, they heard a thunderous roar behind them. It was Belhifet.

 

After carefully laying Viconia as far away from the fire as possible so she could begin to heal herself, Cat went up to the rest of her comrades.

 

“What was that?” She asked.

 

“A ray of enfeeblement,” Edwin replied, shrugging. “I honestly can’t believe it worked, but now that behemoth will have no chance against Dorn and Caelar.”

 

“And I targeted this riveting creature’s rear with my magnificent magic missiles,” Baeloth announced, full of pride. “I am aware he may not have appreciated it.”

 

Cat laughed.

 

“Good job, keep it up.”

 

“Don’t think the magic missiles are doing much,” Edwin complained. “And with all this fire and smoke, we have no way of seeing how the other idiots are doing or where they are, so lightning bolts are out of the question.”

 

Safana had been examining the place in silence, but then she chimed in the conversation.

 

“Then I have good news for you, I have found a place with a good view, on the lovely capital of that column. There's even room for two of us!”

 

She pointed up, to a column that looked to be made of bones. The capital in question was ornated with what grossly looked like actual human heads, though they were so disfigured that it was hard to tell.

 

“Are you sure it’s stable?”

 

The thief shrugged.

 

“We won't know unless we try.”

 

“Alright, then. I’ll climb with Safana. You two keep sending him magic missiles, and watch over for Viconia in case she needs potions of healing as well.”

 

The two men nodded and got to work as Safana climbed the column, using the bones as leverage, agile like a cat. The witch followed her, turning every few times to see if she could make out anything from the battle. When she got to the capital, Safana offered her a hand and helped to pull her up. Indeed, the view was perfect from the column. She could see Caelar, completely undamaged from the fire, and Dorn, successfully drawing blood from the devil with his sword. Belhifet was injured; if Cat and Safana could hit him with their projectiles from their spot, he would fall soon. Cat placed a special bullet on her sling. It was one of a pack with a very strong enchantment that would penetrate the devil's thick skin… or at least damage it and leave a bruise. Magic didn't do much to him, though the swarms of magic missiles were getting on the devil's nerves, infuriating him and making him lose focus. So Cat and Safana joined the party with their bullets and arrows, making him lose focus and breaking his defensive stance so Caelar could attack from his side. Her bright blade burned on the devil's skin, and he howled in pain at the feeling. The impact of a bullet on one of his horns, which broke the tip of it, brought his attention to the column Cat and Safana stood atop of. Mad with rage, he threw his blade at the structure with such strength that it sank in a head between the two women, making the capital crumble. Safana managed to hold on to one of the ugly heads that decorated it, but lost her bow in the process. Cat wasn't so lucky. She was barely able to cast an Otiluke's resilient sphere to absorb the damage of the collision in time. Since Caelar and Dorn weren't giving up, Belhifet sent them flying with a fire blast. Even though the flames didn't hurt them much, it did propel them to the other side of the room and made them collide with the floor, completely out of the devil's range. Cat understood he was going after her.

 

“Take Viconia out of here,” she commanded the two men beside her.

 

“But Belhifet—” Baeloth began.

 

“Just fucking do it!”

 

The two spellcasters obeyed, each taking one of the still injured woman's arms and wrapping it around their shoulders as they moved out of Belhifet's reach. Cat looked back up at Safana, a bit wary about her safety, and calculated the height and area. Yes, it should be just enough not to hurt the woman.

 

As the devil closed the distance between them with huge strides, she closed her eyes, preparing for what would come next. It was very possible that it would kill her in the process, but there were worse ways of dying, honestly. She knew a thing or two about death, after all. The monstrous fiend grabbed her in his hand and lifted her like she was a doll, pressing her so much that she could barely breath.

 

_ Don’t lose sight of it,  _ she mentally repeated to herself, over and over, as she summoned the mental image of what she needed to conjure next.

 

“Bhaalspawn,” he bellowed. “You have dared to defy me, to scar me! I shall make you regret it. Your soul will forever languish in this hall of mine. I will make a new column with your bones. I—”

 

“You know, I’ve always hated evil speeches,” she interrupted him as she released the spell.

 

Razor-sharp icicles began to fall from up above, falling all over Belhifet, who bawled in pain at the freezing cold. It didn't work as well as a lightning bolt, but it should do. In his rage, he threw Cat to the floor. That time she couldn't invoke a protecting sphere, so she fell face-first, grunting upon the collision. She tried to drag herself back on her feet, but Belhifet brushed her off as if she’d done a fly, making her lay on his stomach. He raised the sword he had left, trying not to flinch as the icicles pierced his skin. Just a few more strikes…

 

“It’s over, Bhaalspawn,” he growled. “This is the part where you die.”

 

“Actually, this is the part where I create the perfect distraction so those two over there can come in time to kick your ass,” a voice said from above.

 

Safana let go of what was left of the capital and twirled in the air, landing on Belhifet's head. Holding onto one of his horns with her legs, she covered his eyes with both of her hands. The devil shook his head, trying to shove her away, but the woman's grip on his horn was like a vise. She let out a wild laugh as the devil raised a hand to grab her, and in a few steps that looked like part of a well-rehearsed choreography, she lunged herself to the other horn, jumped to his shoulder and slid down his arm to gracefully fall on her feet. Before the devil could do anything else, she already had her bow in her hand, and began to shoot at his knees, making him cry out and fall on them. Magic missiles blinded him, and Cat took a second to look back at Edwin and Baeloth; the latter grinned and put his thumbs up. Then, she took the staff she had won off Thrix and proceeded to beat the crap out of the wounded devil. There was no need for magic, she didn't even need to deal much damage; she wanted, she  _ needed _ the violence, the retribution that was due. Then, she saw Caelar and Dorn coming to put an end to Belhifet for good.

 

“It’s over, you monster. Finally, my uncle will be free from your clutches,” Caelar shouted, already raising her sword.

 

“Heh, that’s all… good, but… the one to your left,” Belhifet pointed at Dorn. “He would do better to let me live.”

 

Cat raised the staff to hit him once more, but Dorn raised a hand to stop her. She obliged, though tense about what was to happen next.

 

“Why would that be, fiend?” Dorn demanded, thankfully no trace of doubt in his voice. Yet.

 

“I am an ally to your master,” Belhifet panted. “If you were to let me die, he would be most displeased.”

 

Dorn stopped for a moment, considering the devil's words. Cat knew he was trying to contact Ur-Gothoz. If the blackguard's master had something to say about Belhifet, then the tables could definitely turn.

 

Then, Caelar aimed her shining sword at Dorn.

 

“If you would defend this fiend, after everything he has done, then you shall become my enemy too.”

 

Dorn smirked at the aasimar.

 

“Though it would be an interesting fight, and one that would please my master, there will be no need for it,” he replied before turning to Belhifet. “I stand by the Bhaalspawn!”

 

“Really? What does your master say about that, puppet?” Belhifet snarled.

 

Dorn's expression changed to one of rage.

 

“I am certain I will find plenty of righteous souls to make up for your loss.”

 

Then, his blade slashed the devil’s neck. As Belhifet choked on his own blood, Dorn tore through the place where his heart would have been, probably just out of habit. Still not satisfied, he cut open the fiend's guts, and a disgusting stench of rotten innards filled the room, making Cat cough and tear up as she stepped far from Belhifet in disgust, fearing that she would throw up if she kept breathing that foul stink any longer. Maggots fell from the devil's insides as he struggled to put them back inside. The scene brought a sadistic smile to Dorn's face. Caelar watched the devil die, stoic and unflinching as if her face was made of stone.

 

“After all this time… this cannot be the end,” Belhifet gasped for air. “This cannot… be!”

 

Thus came Belhifet to draw his last breath. Which turned out to be poisonous. Fortunately, Caelar's gear protected her against it, and Dorn had an antidote ready in case something like that happened. After drinking it in one go, he went to assist Safana, who was still hurling from the odor of the devil's splattered organs and the maggots. He held her hair back until the nausea was over and she was able to stand again.

 

“Such a gentleman,” she joked between coughs as she reached for an antidote for the devil's poison.

 

In the meantime, Caelar ran to Aun’s cage and opened it. Her luminescent eyes were shedding tears.

 

“I can scarcely believe it,” she gasped. “Everything I did, every sacrifice I made, all to reach this moment. You are free at last, uncle.”

 

She helped the man out of the cage. He was shaken, and he stumbled as if he had forgotten how to walk. Caelar held him so he would not fall.

 

“I know not what you did to make this happen, Caelar,” his voice shook as well. “Whatever it was, the cost was too great.”

 

At last, they were reunited with Cat and her companions. Viconia had finished healing herself, and even regrew part of the hair she had lost, though the ends were still black from the smoke.

 

“I believe it’s almost time for a new hairstyle,” she joked.

 

Cat held a hand up for everyone to fall silent when the Argents arrived. Viconia examined Aun, and used a greater restoration scroll she had kept for an emergency case. The man that then stood before the group was a whole different one, with all of his strength and might renewed. It was plain to see that he was an expert and powerful paladin. A definitely good trade for a nine-year-old.

 

“I sacrificed myself to ensure my niece never saw this place again,” he said, his voice growing stronger now as well. “You knew my wishes, Caelar. Why did you defy them?”

 

_ Uh-oh, family drama,  _ Cat thought, trying with all of her might not to roll her eyes at the saccharine display.

 

“Do you think so little of me, Uncle?” Caelar replied, distressed by Aun’s reaction to her deeds. “Did you truly believe I would leave you to rot in the devil’s claws?”

 

“I expected my niece to honor her uncle's wishes,” the man insisted in a stern tone. “How long has it been since we last spoke, Caelar? Have you learned nothing in all those years?”

 

Cat groaned. Like Ashatiel, Aun Argent reminded her a lot of Gorion. Her adoptive father would also become disappointed and angered whenever Cat did something in her own way instead of following his strict instructions by the book. Even when her ideas turned out to be better than his.  _ Especially  _ when her ideas turned out to be better than his. But Cat was a Bhaalspawn, after all. Gorion was to watch over her little monster and do everything in his power to prevent her from being who she was. Yet Caelar was an aasimar, loved and revered by all, why did his uncle have to be such an ass?

 

“Hold it right there, old man,” she interrupted Aun's lecturing, sick of hearing it. “Caelar went literally through Hell to save you. Where is your gratitude?”

 

Caelar sighed, defeated.

 

“The better question is, where is mine? I was freed from Belhifet's clutches, but the cost…” She broke into tears once more. “It was too much to bear. I couldn't do it, Uncle. Forgive me, I just—I couldn't.”

 

Aun turned to Cat instead.

 

“I made the sacrifice hoping that Caelar might someday find redemption for her sins. But she is here before me and I now know she chose another path.”

 

“Are you serious? Her sins? She was  _ ten, _ how can you hold her responsible for those acts?” Cat could not believe it. She always knew paladins were the worst, but this one, and that particular order… Did they seriously think they could send a little girl to guard tomes able to summon devils and expect nothing to go wrong? And have the gall to blame her, too?

 

But those were Caelar's chains, not hers. She had to break free of her own will, or not do it at all. Cat waited for her to reply.

 

“A heavy toll was paid,” the aasimar confessed, “by me and those who followed me. Am I without regret? No. Would I do it again? Without hesitation.”

 

“Uhh… including the part where you were manipulated by Hephernaan?” Cat could not help but ask.

 

“If this were to be the end result, as much as it pains me… yes.”

 

“Well, then you are a fool after all,” Cat shrugged. “But at least now you are a  _ free  _ fool. What are you going to do now, Caelar? I don't think the coalition will let you just walk away after everything that happened.”

 

Caelar looked down at Cat in pride. If she weren't such a righteous prick, the mage would have offered to help her escape judgement. Perhaps it was in their nature after all? That Caelar was light, and Cat was darkness? No, it was more likely that Cat was not fucking stupid like the aasimar.

 

“I am an Argent,” she said, chest puffed up in pride. “I hold myself to the highest standard. I know I did evil, though I did it in pursuit of good. I must answer for my crimes.”

 

“Your choice, Caelar,” Cat replied.

 

The woman did not reply. Instead, she approached Belhifet's corpse once more, staring at it in righteous disgust. She dug her sword in the mortal wound the fiend had received on his stomach. When she pulled it out, its light was dimmed by the black fluid that covered it.

 

“Divine blood was the key to opening Dragonspear's portal to Avernus…” Caelar murmured.

 

“The blood of a powerful devil will lock it once again,” Aun concluded.

 

“We must go now,” the aasimar said.

 

It was a silent way back to the portal to the Prime Material Plane. Especially at the hellish elevator. Even Baeloth knew better than to hum to any silly tavern song while the tension between the Argents was so palpable. It was best to leave good people to their own problems. Again at the portal, Aun and Caelar stood before it together, with Cat's group right behind.

 

Caelar searched in a small pouch that hanged from her belt, and handed her uncle a big, rusty key.

 

“Here, take it. It will open the Dragonspear vault. I’ll not be returning to Toril.”

 

“What? No, Caelar, I’ll not allow it,” Aun replied in shock.

 

_ Wow. She has turned the tables on all of us,  _ Cat thought, impressed.  _ She may be a fool for martyrdom, but perhaps she is not that stupid after all. _

 

“You’d remain in this accursed place rather than face the Sword Coast's justice, Caelar?” Cat asked, rather amused at the turn of events.

 

“The portal can only be closed from this side,” Caelar explained. “Someone must remain behind. I shall sever Avernus’ connection to Toril, and then stand guard. Whosoever would cross the threshold to Dragonspear will first face Caelar Argent.”

 

“Impressive,” Cat admitted. “You have managed to forge your own fate, against the wishes and obstacles others posed.”

 

_ An eternity in Avernus, fighting devils… there are worse ways to live for someone like her. In her own way, she is free. _

 

“I can do nothing to change the past. What future I have is here, in this place. That was true from the moment I first summoned Belhifet,” Caelar continued. “Uncle, please, go now, before Avernus’ legions overtake us. Do what you can to redeem the Argent name of the shame I brought upon it, I beg you.”

 

“I…”

 

Aun stared at the key, then at his niece, and then he threw himself into her arms, sobbing. She welcomed the embrace, tears streaming down her face as well.

 

“May Lathander's light shine upon you, child,” he told her after parting the hug.

 

The man then walked into the flames of the portal, which engulfed him, and he disappeared back into the Prime Material Plane. One by one, Cat's companions followed him, until only she and Caelar remained.

 

“Hey, I know we don’t really like each other's ways… but at least you made a choice of your own. I am happy for you,” Cat told the fighter. “Best of luck and all that crap.”

 

Caelar smiled. It was the first time Cat saw her smile, and to be honest, it made her a little fluttery inside.

 

_ Why did I only  _ now  _ realize how hot she is? _

 

“Thank you, Cat. May you have the best of luck in your chosen path, as well.”

 

The witch nodded as acknowledgement of the exchanged formalities and stepped through the flames.

 

* * *

 

When Aun opened the door of the vault, they were received by a heavy contingent of Flaming Fists and Waterdhavian soldiers led by Bence Duncan and Torsin de Lancie, respectively, all of them ready to attack. When they saw who were coming out of that door, de Lancie ordered the troops to hold their fire. Duncan sighed in relief when he saw that the legions of Hell were not taking over Dragonspear Castle again.

 

“Cat,” de Lancie called. “It’s… good to see you. What happened?”

 

“The portal to Avernus is closed.”

 

“And what of our Shining Lady?”

 

The woman sighed, tired of reporting all of her activities. This time, she would let someone else do the job.

 

“Torsin de Lancie of Waterdeep, let me introduce you to Aun Argent, knight of the Order of the Aster. I’ll let him tell you what’s happened to Caelar.”

 

While both men chatted, Corporal Duncan explained the situation of the castle. There were units checking for possible traps or troops who hadn't surrendered, but the huge majority of the Crusade either had done that, died or run away. Cat warned him about the hooded man who had been helping Hephernaan, but he was nowhere to be found, as usual. Once the place was clear, Duncan had decided to prepare a celebratory banquet, all in Cat's honor. There would be bedding prepared for those distinguished in battle like her and her associates. It was all prepared in record time. Soon, the best of the coalition’s food –including some provisions Waizahb had “managed to collect”– and liquor flooded the stances of the castle. After a good feast and a couple drinks –no getting drunk  _ that _ night–, Cat somehow found herself surrounded by people she barely knew or had never seen in her life, all of them wanting to congratulate, compliment her and shake hands with her. Dossia was one of them. She looked as if she had drunk an entire barrel of ale.

 

“Uh… I suppose you don’t want to hear about the ecstasy of suffering in Ilmater's name, no?”

 

Cat blinked.

 

“Are you flirting with me?”

 

“No…? Yes…?”

 

Cat sighed and turned away from the drunken priestess, hoping to find some of her companions. After dodging tenths of idiots who had hated her because of her heritage until she saved their sorry asses, she managed to catch a glimpse of Dorn, standing in a corner, alone. People around looked too intimidated by his presence to get any closer to him. He turned his head and saw Cat. With a smirk, he left the room. No words were needed. Feeling a drumming song in her heart once more, Cat chased after him, trying to leave the room, but was intercepted by yet more idiots trying to speak to her.

 

“No. You know what? I have no time for you. I have places to go, and  _ someone  _ to do.”   
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I promised, most of the episode was a battle, and I really hope you don't get tired of those. Next episode will be VERY focused on Cat and Dorn, and then will have the epilogue, with Dorn's last dialogue and Mr. Creepy Hooded Man ruining everything as usual. Please do leave your comments, tell me what you thought of this one, and as always, see you around, my darlings! Remember to be kind to one another <3


	12. A lot of love; a lot of blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After endless battles, Cat finally gets to enjoy some alone time with Dorn. But in her sleep, something calls to her, pulling at her very being, and things change for her... maybe forever.
> 
> Also, let there be smut, my friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I can't believe I finally finished writing SoD! We are almost at the end of the story. I really, really, really hope you enjoy this chapter. I am a bit nervous about publishing smut this long, and I hope it doesn't disappoint. The whole chapter mixes PoVs, which are visually separated for an easier reading -I hope this system works. Now, read on, and tell me what you think!

 

_When you touch me, I die_

_Just a little inside_

_I wonder if this could be love_

* * *

 

Dorn strode up the stairs toward the bedrooms, with Cat following close. It was a fun game of cat and mouse, for him to make her chase him like that. Cat let out a few silly giggles as she walked up the stairs on her tiptoes and turned to the right, to the corridor where her companions’ rooms were. She saw a door closing. The mage took her sweet time sauntering to her destiny; she had all night after all, and she was rather enjoying that feeling of anticipation. Besides, that would give Dorn some time to get out of that accursed armor. It took a really long time to take off, no wonder he usually returned from battles unscathed; there was almost no corner that black metal didn't protect.

 

At last, she reached the door and entered the room. As she had predicted, Dorn had already taken off his armor. She closed the door and locked it to make sure there would be no intrusions, and when she turned, he was already all over her. He grabbed her by the waist and kissed her fiercely. She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back gently, parting the kiss.

 

“We’ll get to that, I promise,” she said, her voice husky from the excitement. “But first…”

 

The witch turned around and pointed at a bathtub.

 

“I refuse to have sex while smelling of brimstone, rot, devil entrails and who knows what else,” she said, crossing her arms and lifting her chin to let the blackguard know she would admit no discussions on the topic.

 

“I guess that's fair,” Dorn mumbled.

 

“Oh, you’re going to bathe with me,” Cat giggled. “It will be fun.”

 

Dorn raised an eyebrow.

 

“Are you certain we share the same concept for 'fun’?”

 

“Well, think of it,” Cat lowered her voice as she sashayed closer to the half-orc. “It’s going to be pretty crowded in there, and we will get to see each other naked, scrub each other's backs…”

 

As she spoke, she lifted Dorn's shirt and left soft caresses on the hardened muscles she felt underneath. She could also feel his breathing quickening, and see the look of want in his eyes. She knew he would not regret it… and so did he.

 

“We could try,” he conceded.

 

“Good,” Cat smiled from ear to ear. “Now start undressing while I heat the tub.”

 

The service had already bothered in filling everyone’s tubs on that floor and put a fire under them so the water would warm up. However, it would take a bit for the water to reach the optimal temperature, so Cat decided to speed it up. She had some fire arrow scrolls that she never got to use, and just a couple of them were enough to do the job. As she dipped a hand in the water to check that the temperature was right, she felt Dorn’s hands lifting her robes. She turned to face him and found him stark naked.

 

_Oh, goodness._

 

He pulled her for a kiss, his mouth and eyes open, and only parted it to allow Cat to take off her garments from her arms and head. Then came her smallclothes, and finally, she was in the same state of undress as him. They took a moment to study each other. Dorn was just as impressive as Cat had imagined, with a bulky frame, well-defined abdominal muscles and huge arms that were as able to cradle her as to break her spine. Even his legs were pure muscle…

 

 _Well,_ that _is going to take some work._

 

Cat was not acquainted with half-orc sizing, but compared with human standards… Dorn was _huge._ And very ready, for the looks of it.

#### *~*~*

 

When he finished aiding her to bare herself, Dorn was introduced to Cat’s hidden tattoos. He had already discovered the viper behind her ear, which reminded her never to trust the words of others. Then he saw the scorpion on her left wrist. She wore it on her sleeve instead of her heart, for protection. But the one that really caught his eye was the raven that told her to not allow anything or anyone hinder her progress or stand in her way. Its wings were spread under her breasts in a most aesthetically pleasing way. Between giggles, Cat turned her back to the blackguard to get into the bathtub, and he saw her last tattoo; the colorful butterfly on her right buttock, for freedom. He rather liked it, too.

 

“Aren’t you coming?”

 

Dorn was quick to comply. As Cat had told him, there was not much space in the tub, so their legs became entangled as the witch poured aromatic powder and oil in the water, and took the soap in a nearby side table that had been provided for distinguished “heroes” like them.

 

“Do you mind if I go first?”

 

The blackguard groaned in annoyance, but let her wash her long locks. If she was going to keep sputtering double entendres, he was going to cease that washing up nonsense and take her to his bed. However, he had to admit that it was pleasant to watch her rinsing herself; once her hair was drenched in foam, she began to rub the soap against her skin. Dorn watched very closely, and Cat made sure to turn it into a show, using a washcloth to take any possible dirt away, sliding it slowly between her breasts, wringing it over them to partially cover them in foam. And when she got to her legs, she needlessly bent them so he could see them above the more and more foamy water. When she was done with her right leg, she returned it to its former position in an overtly leisurely fashion. But when she was about to wash her left leg, her feet “accidentally” grazed his erection, making him growl and throw himself over her, tired of her little games.

 

“Hey, you’re spilling all the water!” She complained as he pressed his body to hers.

 

“Stop teasing me or I’ll take you right now,” he barked at the witch, who looked only mildly uncomfortable by his weight on hers; she had even hooked her legs around his waist.

 

“Are you threatening me with a good time, Dorn?” She purred, with the smirk that fascinated and frustrated him so in equal parts. “No, I’ll not have that until you wash yourself. If you turn, I can help you with your hair and your back.”

 

Dorn huffed in annoyance at her triumphant smile as he turned to let her wash his thick mane. She knew that he would not do anything to her against her wishes, so that time, he would have to comply. Was that her payback for toying with her back at the castle basement, perhaps?

 

The half-orc soon found that submitting to Cat's hygiene standards wasn't as bad as he originally thought. She used the soap on his wet hair, which was soon covered in foam, and she massaged his scalp with her fingertips. Then, she repeated the process down his back. She was extremely gentle, each scrap felt more like a massage or a caress, and he inadvertently let out a sigh. Such indulgence was not something he was used to, with the kind of life he had led… but he found this new experience to be quite pleasing, though also conflicting. On the one hand, Cat's touch as she asked him to lay back his head so she could rinse his hair was sweet, soothing, and it elicited an emotion in him he had not a name for. On the other hand, the damned woman took the opportunity to let his head rest against her generous bosom, and her fingertips had grazed the sensitive tip of his ears more than once while she was washing him, so she was also igniting him, drawing him to _ravage_ her. And even if she weren’t trying to provoke him so, it would be impossible for him not to desire her.

 

After all, _it was Cat_.

 

#### *~*~*

 

“There, you’re done. Now you do the rest,” Cat announced, softly nudging Dorn on his shoulder. “Could you help me out with _my_ hair when you finish? It’s a bit hard to rinse, being so long and all.”

 

“Did you never think of cutting it?” He asked as he scrubbed himself with the soap and the washcloth. Cat took good note of the way he was flexing his arms while he washed them, showing off his strong biceps. If he was trying to turn the tables on her, then she would make sure to sit back and enjoy the show.

 

“Nope. Never. I like it like this. You know, back in Candlekeep Gorion tried to get me to cut it so it was more manageable, but I always escaped and refused and threw such a fuss that he ended up giving up and letting my hair grow wild,” Cat replied, reminiscing those days with a hit of nostalgia that ended in the moment she next spoke. “So once, he got tired of it and cut it while I slept. Only once. I got so furious I threw his books down the window and threatened to set them on fire if he ever did that again. Tantrums and threats were the only ways I could ever get him to listen to me.”

 

“My apologies, I did not intend to bring forth bitter memories,” Dorn said in a low tone. “But it would be best if you left the past where it belongs. Your adoptive father is dead now, and you are free to claim what is rightfully yours.”

 

“My, you really are wise, Dorn Il-Khan,” Cat giggled as she decided to listen to him and focus on the way the foam fell down his abs.

 

For all reply, he smirked in pride as he finished rinsing himself. Once he was done, Cat turned her back to the blackguard and scooted close to him.

 

“Now, my hair, please?”

 

Cat felt a soft tug at her locks as Dorn lowered her head until it reached the water. The man was surprisingly gentle, rinsing her hair with a lot more care than she would have, undoing the knots she had long given up on untangling. The half-orc really was aware of his own strength, and how to apply it. Yet another reason she felt… safe around him, as strange as harboring such an emotion was for her. After a bit, he let go of her and she sat back up… and his arms were around her, holding her tight enough to immobilized her as he scraped his teeth against her shoulder and latched one hand to her left breast, to caress it and tease it, his thumb quick against her nipple. Cat whimpered and reached behind her with a hand as she felt Dorn's other hand made its downward path to her core. Searching through the foam proved a little challenging for him, but Cat was quick to find her target. She grabbed a firm hold of the blackguard's erection, who snarled and bit her shoulder harder as he twisted her nipple between two fingers and his other hand found her sex. Grinning at his reaction, she rubbed her hand along the man’s cock as he counterattacked with bites all along her neckline while his hands were busy pleasuring her like he had already learned that she loved, earning gasps from his lover than did nothing but fuel his desire.

 

“I want you,” he whispered at her ear. “Now.”

 

Panting, Cat sat up against him, still grabbing him, and tried to align herself with him so she could get him inside her. Dorn reached for her chin, tilting it slightly so she would look back at him.

 

“What are you trying to do, Cat?”

 

“What does it look like?” She purred as she kept trying to get his cock inside her.

 

“We shouldn't do it like this, it’s going to hurt you,” he warned her, serious.

 

“In the water? I don’t think so—ah!”

 

Dorn grunted as Cat finally managed to slid his tip inside her. It turned out that he was right, though it didn't stop the woman from moving up and down, trying to take more of him. It hurt, though pain was something she rather liked in the right doses. Dorn gripped her hips and stilled her movements as he kissed the same shoulder he had been biting mere minutes ago.

 

“You are going to hurt yourself. Let’s go to the bed, I have lubricant.”

 

Cat turned to stare at the half-orc in surprise. He rolled his eyes.

 

“You are not the first human I lay with, Cat. I know what I’m doing.”

 

*~*~*

 

When Cat finally decided to listen to Dorn, she rose from her seat to get out of the tub. He had to admit it had been rather hard to tell her to stop; it felt fantastic to be inside her… but there was no point in it if she ended up injuring herself. On another side table, there were towels they used to dry themselves. Cat did what she could to wring as much water from her hair as possible, but taming that long black mane was a battle she had yet to win. Once she gave up on trying to dry it any further, she followed Dorn into bed. He took his backpack and searched for the lubricant. It was made from the sap of certain plants Dorn never bothered to ask about, and it was broadly used by those of his race who wished to engage in intercourse with smaller races, as well as by people of any race who wished to practice anal sex. He took a knob of it, but Cat placed her hand on his before he could apply it.

 

“I have two requests.”

 

Dorn blinked. What could she be up to now?

 

“What do you want?”

 

“First… can I be the one to apply that?”

 

Half-lidded eyes, slightly puffed up lips… it was one of Cat’s ways of trying to get away with whatever she wanted, as far as Dorn was involved. And damn her, it always worked. Especially then, when just minutes ago she was pleasuring him with her hand. The thought of those delicate fingers running along his sex again, teasing and provoking him, made his blood boil.

 

“You may do it. What else?”

 

“Before I cover you in that…” a devious smirk, that damned woman had a way of testing his patience and control. “I would like to _taste_ you.”

 

Her smile, the way she said it… she knew what it did to him. And yet she kept provoking him. With a snarl, he grabbed her arm and pulled her to him to kiss her, to savor _her_ and satisfy at least a little extent of his burning desire to take her right then and there. Then, he felt her playfully scrapping her teeth against his tongue, and the flames were back, consuming all of him. He retaliated by biting her own tongue, earning a surprised little cry from her. Dorn fred her fast, before he could actually hurt her.

 

“That was… hot,” she gasped. “Do it again.”

 

Dorn ran a hand through the witch's wet hair, smirking at the shock in her wide eyes. There was so much more he had in store for her, so much he wished to share…

 

“Don’t you have a couple things to do first?” He asked, tightening the grip in her hair.

 

Cat grinned and let her hands slide down his chest. He let go of her hair and allowed her tongue to make a slow descent down his torso, caressing the skin of her back as she arched herself further down. Then, Dorn felt one of those soft hands gripping his length, moving up and down, setting him on fire again. That was before Cat's tongue brushed against his glans. The blackguard let out a throaty groan as she took the head between her lips. Thin as they were, they were able to put a delightful amount of pressure as that skilled tongue savored every inch of his tip. As she began to suck him, Dorn's caresses on her back turned to scratches that encouraged her further. She tried to take in more of him, and then carefully nipped at the tip to excite him further before letting it hit the farthest point of her mouth it could reach without triggering her gag reflex. Even as she did that, she needed a hand to cover him more or less fully. Dorn ran his fingers through her still damp curls, not wanting to push her, aware that she would not be able to take his full length in her small mouth. And yet, with the combined work of her mouth and her hand, she was more than able to make him shudder.

 

“Enough,” he said, his voice hoarse from the attentions he’d been receiving.

 

*~*~*

 

Dorn extended his palm for Cat to pick up the lubricant. It had a strange, gooey texture, though it was not unpleasant like a slime would have felt. With her hand, she made sure to apply it all over the length of Dorn's cock as she leaned in for another kiss, hoping that he would grant her her earlier request. As he welcomed her lips, one of his fingers went back to teasing her clit. She moaned and used her free hand to flick at his ear, while her thumb played with the tip of his now fully lubricated cock. With a growl, he trapped her tongue between his sharp teeth, this time for longer, as the finger on her clit picked up a quicker pace. She softly tugged at his hair and tried to break free from the grip of his teeth as that damned finger did magic on her body. When Dorn released her, she felt the taste of blood in her mouth, and he was soon kissing her again, no bites this time, his tongue searching for hers to taste her blood as the finger at her clit put much more pressure and speed than she could take. Cat called out her lover's name as they parted the kiss and threw her head back as she reached her peak. Panting, she collapsed on the bed, running the back of her hand through her forehead to wipe out the sweat.

 

“Was that too much?” Dorn asked, tilting his head to the side with a cocky smile. The bastard definitely knew how to push her buttons.

 

Cat propped herself up on her elbows and locked eyes with him, her face completely serious.

 

“Shut up and fuck me.”

 

Dorn caressed her cheek, grazing her ear as he put some strands of her wild hair behind it. There was that smile, that... strangely sweet smile that undid her completely.

 

“As my goddess commands.”

 

Between heated kisses, Dorn laid over Cat as she entangled her legs around his waist and pulled him closer, her arms caressing his back, wanting to feel all of him. The blackguard grabbed himself to reach Cat’s opening, and with an iron grip on her hips that prompted Cat to bite his neck in retaliation, he slid inside her. This time, it was much easier, more enjoyable and almost completely painless, and with each thrust, Dorn grunted in satisfaction as he gave the witch more and more of him, in exchange for the chance to ravage her with searing kisses and bites all over from her mouth to her breasts. Cat responded with loud moans and vicious scratches on the half-orc's back and bites on his shoulders as she pressed her feet to his buttocks to urge him further inside her, eager to have him fully. He caught the clue and ploughed harder as Cat raised her hips to meet him. It took a while, but with a rough push that stole a cry from the woman, he was finally fully in. For a moment, Dorn stopped, inspecting Cat's face for any sign of discomfort.

 

*~*~*

 

“How are you feeling?” Dorn asked.

 

Then, he was surprised by the most ardent kiss anyone had yet stolen from him. That time, it was Cat who bit his tongue and his lips, licking the blood off as she twisted her hips to tease him into moving once more. She seemed to be more than fine. Close, even, judging from the desperation in her tone when she spoke.

 

“Please,” she begged, breathless, as she ran her hands down the blackguard's entangled locks. “Keep going, and don’t stop.”

 

Paying close attention to her reactions, Dorn began to move again, trying a faster, harder pace. Cat arched her back up and let her nails leave reddish patterns down the half-orc's arms, her moans making his heart race. He sucked on the bite marks all over her neck as he heard her becoming louder the harder he sheathed into her. She bit his earlobe as her hands travelled down his back to grab his buttocks and fondle them, pressing them so he would reach deeper into her. He understood that she would only be sated with a rougher treatment. So he held her legs and placed them on his shoulders, allowing a far deeper penetration. Cat’s arms fell on the pillow as she screamed in ecstasy while Dorn slammed into her, allowing himself to use more and more of his strength while he occasionally bit one of the legs he was holding. His name escaped her lips over and over like a mantra as she climaxed. Not long after that, he let go of her legs to clasp her hips to push himself as deep  as possible, and he kissed her, groaning her name as he spilled his seed inside her. He had long ago stolen a good stash of cassil from a rich man he had slain in Ur-Gothoz’ name, and he had been eating it regularly lately, in anticipation of _that_ precise moment, so there would be no risks. He explained that to her, and she laughed.

 

“Well, I do drink nararoot tea regularly, but you really had everything ready.”

 

Dorn smirked as he leaned in for yet another kiss.

 

“It is not everyday I get to share my bed with a goddess.”

 

When they kissed, he felt her shudder. She began to caress him again, and he sighed. There came that unnamed feeling again, one that only _she_ could bring forth, one that conflicted him as much as it delighted him. One that made him wish he were truly free to worship his goddess like she deserved.

 

* * *

Cat woke with a strange feeling. It was a pull, something that called to her very being. A part of her wanted to stay in bed, in Dorn's warm arms, but the calling became stronger and stronger. She carefully slid from the muscular arm that held her –there was no way she would be able to lift it–, Dorn mumbled something and turned his back to her, but he did not wake. Again, part of her thought it wiser to wake him and explain what was happening, but she had a burning feeling in her chest that that was something she had to accomplish by herself. In the darkness, she fruitlessly searched for her gear. It was all scattered through the room, she'd never find it, so she tried her luck with a big wardrobe. There was only a shirt, part of the crusaders’ uniforms, but it was plain to see that it used to belong to someone bigger than her, so it would be enough. She threw it on and saw that, indeed, it reached the half of her thighs, which was perfectly fine by her modesty standards. She looked for something to wear on her feet, but there was nothing to be found, and who knew where her boots had ended up the night before. Hoping she would not step on the broken glass of a cup of wine, Cat silently left the room.

 

The pull took her to the grand salon, where she found she wasn't alone. Skie was there, her back to her, fully dressed and looking around, just as confused as Cat was. When she tried to approach her, a wall of fire stood in her way. Then she _really_ regretted not having picked up her gear, especially the staff she had won from Thrix's wager, which granted her fire resistance. She tried to turn back, to warn her companions of the ambush, but another wall of fire rose to cut her path, She cursed. That night, she hadn't bothered to memorize any spells, and she was nearly out of them.

 

She was trapped.

 

*~*~*

 

Fire in front of her, fire behind her. What was going on? Skie began to feel scared. Her dagger would be no help against it, not unless she found the cause. Perhaps she should scream for help?

 

Right then, a hooded figure appeared before her. It looked like an old, hunched man. She couldn't see much of his face, but he gave her the creeps. Skie drew her dagger, her hand trembling, as the man spoke.

 

“Skie Silvershield. Born into privilege, yet driven to rebel against the destiny her father mapped out for her.”

 

“W-who are you?” Skie asked, trying to remember how to properly hold her dagger.

 

Then, through the flames, she saw Cat’s figure, pacing like a hungry lion. Her green eyes were big like the emeralds in Skie's favorite necklace.

 

“She has been challenged, as you have,” the hooded man now spoke to the witch, who kept trying to find an opening in the wall of fire. “Has she proven worthy—or been found wanting? Let us see.”

 

Then, the flames glowed brighter, and Skie could not see Cat anymore. She tried to call out for her, but no sound came from her mouth. She tried to move, but found that she had been paralyzed. From the corner of the eye, she saw the hooded man to her left, then a flash right beneath her that made her feel something cold on her neck, just like when she wore her silver choker. The world grew darker…

 

*~*~*

 

Cat had seen Skie through the flames, but now they burned so bright that she could see nothing. She grew worried; whatever was happening, she needed to get the other woman to safety as soon as possible.

 

Then, she heard Skie's voice.

 

“What… What's happening? I—I don’t understand…”

 

“Skie?” Cat shouted from the other side of the wall. “Are you okay?”

 

What the witch heard next made her blood freeze.

 

“No! NO!” Skie cried from the other side.

 

 _Fuck it, I’m going to help her_ , Cat thought as she raced through the flames… only for them to disappear as she touched them.

 

However, what awaited at the other side was much worse than what she had imagined.

 

There was no trace of Skie. Instead, a monstrous golden figure stood on the center of the room, in front of another wall of flames. Cat looked back and saw that the other wall was back. She was trapped with that… thing from her nightmares. She could not clearly make out the contour of that unknowable horror, as if it were cloaked with a blur spell, which was probably for the best. She could, however, see its various sets of upper extremities, ended in the sharpest claws she had seen, big like daggers, and its lower extremities had the junctures reversed, like those of an insect, and were thick like those of a giant. There was something familiar in its unfathomable features, something primal that paralyzed Cat in fear. The horror moved a long horned tail from side to side, ready to pounce on her, like it had in all the nightmares that damned hooded man had induced in her. That meant it was just another dream, and that when the creature hit her, she would wake again, feeling the pain of the attack, but safe in Dorn's arms. Maybe she could even will herself to wake up before the claws pierced her flesh.

 

_Wake up. Wake up. Wake up, you fucking idiot!_

 

The horror pounced and slashed Cat’s chest with its claws. The pain was _very_ real, and she didn't wake.

 

_No. No! This can’t be happening!_

 

The witch evaded another of the monster’s claws with a cartwheel and jumped to her feet, trying in vain to escape. But the horror was faster and caught up with her no matter how fast she ran, not to mention that she had no place to go with the walls of fire to each side, cutting every possible escape.

 

“Go away, GO AWAY!” Cat screamed as she released a swarm of magic missiles, aimed at the monster.

 

The fiend vanished into golden dust, just like Sarevok had after her fireball took his life. The walls of fire were gone, her injuries from the monster's attack were gone, everything was gone. Cat looked around; everything seemed normal again. It was then when she noticed her shirt was completely covered in blood, as were her hands. How could that be, if her wounds had vanished?

 

The answered laid lifeless on the floor beside her, in a pool of her own blood, with a deep cut across her throat. Cat rushed to her.

 

“Skie? Oh, hells…” She had to find Viconia, and quick.

 

“What the hells—? No—gods, NO!”

 

Bence Duncan had appeared from a side door, staring in horror at the dead woman on the floor, then at Cat in outrage.

 

“What have you done, Cat? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?”

 

_Me? No. Not me… right?_

 

“There was a monster, it attacked me—”

 

Duncan interrupted her, as the place became flooded with Flaming Fists, as well as other soldiers.

 

“There’s only one monster here—the one that stood on Boareskyr Bridge, a skull scorched into the stone around her. The one covered in Skie Silvershield's blood.” Then, his tone turned lower, menacing. “May the gods help you. No one else will.”

 

Cat looked around, seeing the accusation in the faces of those who had hailed her like a hero the night before. Among those faces, she saw her companions.

 

“Well, it seems that you have lost the last inch of sanity you still seemed to have,” Safana drawled, looking down at her, despective. “I want no part in your madness.”

 

“We cannot be associated with you any longer without putting our lives in danger,” Viconia added, and left with Baeloth in tow.

 

Edwin shook his head.

 

“I knew you weren't as smart as you thought (There's something fishy here, I don't think she did this; this place reeks of powerful magic, but I cannot stay here with her if I am to investigate what actually happened).”

 

Dorn stared at Cat in approval. He didn't look bothered at all by the gruesome scene before him.

 

“I was wondering where and why you left… killing that insufferable brat seems a good enough reason to leave my bed without notice.”

 

“No, that’s not it, I didn't—” Cat began, trying to get her companions to stay, to be there for her in that moment.

 

“In the name of the Council of Four,” Duncan interrupted her, “you are under arrest for the murder of Skie Silvershield. You will return to Baldur's Gate to be tried for your crime.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The little piece at the beggining is from Venus by Lady Gaga. I think the chorus fits very well how both Cat and Dorn feel at this point.
> 
> Okay, one more chapter to go, and I'll be getting started with Shadows of Amn. I was saddened to give this chapter such an ending, but it was necessary for SoA to occur. In the next chapter, we'll see the final dialogue with Dorn and we'll learn of Cat's fate.
> 
> As always, please do tell me your opinion. What did you like? What did you hate? You make my day whenever you say anything at all, let me tell you!
> 
> As always, see you in the next one!


	13. The wolf's den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cat has been arrested for the murder of Skie Silvershield, one she did not commit. Can she prove her innocence? And who was the real perpetrator?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We reach the ending of Siege of Dragonspear! I have been working on Shadows of Amn and I already have some material to publish, so expect the next part of this series to pop up next week. This chapter contains the ending of the game, with my epilogue and the last in-game dialogue with Dorn -which I personally loved, to be honest. Now, I hope you enjoy!

 

* * *

 

Back at the streets of the city, Cat had the same scort that had led her out, she stepped on the same cobblestones she had walked, but everything had changed. Officer Corwin walked by her side like she had when they departed, but now she would not dare to look at her in the eyes. The city’s inhabitants had crowded the streets to receive the returning army… and to insult Cat and throw rotten tomatoes, eggs and lettuce at her.

 

“Shame! Shame on you and all who called you hero!”

 

 _Shame on_ you _for believing I was._

 

“MURDERER!”

 

_You certainly didn't mind when I murdered my own brother._

 

“Die, you fiend, die! We don’t need another Sarevok!”

 

_Speaking of the devil…_

 

“Skie Silvershield will be avenged!”

 

That one made Cat's blood boil.

 

_Oh, yes, she will—once I find out what happened._

 

The trial was held at the central square of the city, right in front of the entrance of the Ducal Palace. The judge Belt called all those who travelled in the army. None of her companions appeared to testify. Not that Cat could blame them; they would undoubtedly be involved in Skie's murder by someone. Cat knew how quick the righteous were to judge; she was just then living it in her own skin, as soldiers claimed that she was a merciless monster. The same merciless monster they had to thank for returning to Baldur's Gate alive. Then, Corporal Duncan took his place at the stand to testify.

 

 _I am so screwed,_ Cat thought.

 

“We’ve heard the testimony of those who travelled with the Flaming Fist expedition to Dragonspear Castle,” Belt summed up the events. “Many told of how the accused was found in Dragonspear’s main hall, with Skie Silvershield dead at her feet.”

 

Then, the man turned to Duncan. They had known each other and worked together for years; Cat was certain that Belt would believe whatever Duncan shoved down his throat. She could only hope the other man would be an impartial and fair judge.

 

“Corporal Bence Duncan bore witness to a disturbing incident involving the accused at Boareskyr Bridge. He is here to share his recollections.”

 

Before speaking, Duncan shot a dark glare at Cat.

 

“Bridgefort was under siege by the crusade,” he explained. “The accused led an attack, driving Caelar's followers off. After that, she collapsed while crossing Boareskyr Bridge. The symbol of Bhaal, Lord of Murder, seared itself into the stones around her.”

 

“Child of murder!” A commoner shouted from the crowd. “Evil poisons your blood!”

 

Belt’s voice rose over the crowd's.

 

“The mark of Bhaal does not in itself prove guilt. But it does cast a darker shadow of suspicion upon the accused. We cannot forget that Sarevok, another spawn of Bhaal, brought our city to the brink of war. Thank you for your service, Corporal, you may go.”

 

Duncan stepped off the stand, his expression as hard and dark as when he got on it. He probably expected more support from Belt. Cat had to contain a sigh of relief. Perhaps she still had a chance…

 

“As for you, Cat…” the judge turned to her, his eyes trying to see something in hers that led him to a conclusion. “Our diviners have presented evidence of your deeds since leaving Baldur's Gate, deeds that speak to your character. Is there anything you wish to say in your defense?”

 

“If you have wizards divining the evidence, surely they can discover who murdered Skie?” Cat asked. It was a risk, there would be a lot of dirty laundry that would be found about her, but she needed to prove her innocence at that case, first and foremost.

 

“A powerful force obscured divinations at the time of the murder,” Belt explained. “That in itself is highly suspicious and points to premeditation. However, we have learned one important fact.”

 

He made a pause before continuing.

 

“Peering into the Weave, our diviners determined that Skie Silvershield's soul now languishes within an artifact called the Soultaker Dagger.”

 

_What? A dagger?_

 

“All efforts to locate the dagger have amounted to naught. While her essence is imprisoned thus, Skie can never be returned to life. If we had the Soultaker, she might possibly be restored, and confirm your innocence—if indeed you are innocent.”

 

Cat fell silent. When the horror attacked her, she used magic missiles to defeat it. But Skie had been killed with a dagger; a weapon she wasn't even able to use properly. And Edwin muttered something about powerful magic at the spot of the murder. How could such a simple magic missile spell leave such a magical residue? Besides… “if indeed you are innocent”. Belt didn't know shit and he had already deemed her guilty. Well, then, if she was to be condemned, at least it would be for the crimes she _did_ commit.

 

“As I asked before, is there anything you wish to say in your defense?” Belt requested.

 

“Yes. I would have never killed Skie. I liked her, and encouraged her to follow the path she chose in life, instead of the one others had marked for her,” Cat spoke, staring at the whole city in front of her in defiance. “I am no hero, I have done terrible things in my life… and done them proudly. If I HAD killed Skie Silvershield, I would freely admit it.”

 

“Elaborate,” Belt demanded, clearly uncomfortable by Cat's stance.

 

“When I met a former servant of Bhaal, imprisoned and tortured by Cyricists, I fred her so she could lead the life she chose. She chose to murder in my name. I did not stop her.”

 

“So noted,” Belt replied. “Is there anything more you would say in your defense?”

 

“Yes, there is. I was given a special mission at Dragonspear Castle: Poison the crusaders’ supplies.” She waited for the stunned gasps of the crowd to die down before continuing. “Any tool is a useful one in war. I agreed to the task. I don't hide my deeds.”

 

“So noted. Anything else?”

 

“Yes. The pursuit of Caelar took me to the wastes of Avernus. A fiend offered to let me pass freely there—if I sacrificed one of my companions. I offered myself instead.” The crowd fell silent at Cat's statement. “You see, I am extremely loyal to those who deserve it, those close to me, who accept me as I am. Skie did, and I was close to her. I do not murder my friends.”

 

Belt nodded.

 

“So noted. We’ve heard much evidence today, both for your character and against it. Now we—what is that commotion?”

 

“Out of my way—OUT OF MY WAY, you sniveling pigs!”

 

_Uh-oh…_

 

Entar Silvershield himself rushed through the crowd, kicking and pushing the commoners aside. His advance was cut off by Flaming Fist enforcers, though he was dangerously close to the stand. Cat would much rather not be convicted of the murder of _two_ Silvershields, so she stayed still and let the Fists handle it.

 

“We can’t let you do that, my lord—” one of them began.

 

“Do you know to whom you speak?” Entar Silvershield roared. “I’ll have your family on the street begging for coppers if you don’t let me pass!”

 

“You do not want to do this, Entar…” Belt pleaded.

 

“Do not tell me what I want,” Entar bellowed, “I KNOW what I want. You! Cat! MURDERER! You killed my little girl… my Skie…”

 

“I don't know what happened to Skie,” Cat spoke, deciding that honesty was still the best policy. “But I intend to find out.”

 

“You put on a good act, but I KNOW the truth,” Entar replied, furious. “It wasn't enough to slay her bodily and leave me childless? You had to destroy her soul too?”

 

Belt tried to reign the grieving father in and to stop the commotion, but it was escalating dangerously.

 

“This is not the time—”

 

“Tell me what you did with it, fiend!” The Grand Duke spat. “Before they send you to the gallows, tell me, what did you do with the dagger?”

 

“I don’t have it. I can't even use a dagger without cutting myself,” Cat admitted in a low tone. It had all been a blur, but there had been no dagger in her hand at any moment, she was sure of it.

 

“The priests can do nothing…” Entar began to sob. “She's gone forever. My Skie…”

 

One of the Grand Duke's guards placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

 

“Come, my lord. I’ll escort you back to the estate.”

 

As soon as the Grand Duke left the stand, the crowd exploded in heated shouts.

 

“Guilty, I say!” A noblewoman cried out. “GUILTY!”

 

“Order!” Belt's voice boomed over the crowd. Cat wondered if he had used magical means to amplify the volume of his voice. “Give me order or I’ll have the square cleared! Order!”

 

With his warning, along with the one of the groups of Flaming Fists who guarded the stand lowering their spears, the crowd seemed to finally calm down. The judge cleared his throat.

 

“A father’s grief is an irrational thing. Let us return to the facts. Cat, we’ve heard the evidence and your own defense. Have you anything else you wish to say?”

 

“Yes. As I have insisted before, I have not murdered Skie Silvershield,” Cat said. “And I am willing to do everything in my power to find the Soultaker Dagger and restore her.”

 

Now, the crowd whispered, as if scared of being heard by the witch. There were shadows of doubt in some faces, but many others still looked at her with contempt. As if she cared. Right then, her only worry was her impending imprisonment.

 

“The Flaming Fist will take custody of the prisoner until a decision is reached. Take her away.”

 

And with that, Cat's freedom was cut down. The group of Flaming Fists grabbed her as if they feared she would attempt to escape –she fumed at that, but could do nothing to get rid of them– and escorted her to her cell in their building.

 

* * *

 

Cat stared at the stone ceiling, perhaps waiting for it to stare back.

 

She had spent the first hours in her cell inspecting the bars of the door, looking for weak spots she could use to free herself… but since the building was filled to the brim with Flaming Fists, she didn't have her spellbook and she was alone, that would be a foolish thing to do, even if she had indeed found an opening in the solid iron bars. Besides, she couldn't look too close; the long chains that bound her wrists together were connected to the ceiling, at the back of the cell, so she could not reach the door without her arms hanging up in a most pathetic way. So in the end, she laid on her bed, trying to come up with ways to get out of her current predicament. She hadn't even been given new clothes, or allowed to wash herself, so Skie's blood was drying on her shirt and clotting on the skin beneath. Had it been an enemy of hers, she would have wore it with pride –and then she would have washed herself anyway–, but Skie… She didn't kill her. She couldn't have.

 

Could she?

 

Her grim thoughts were interrupted by the sound of approaching steps. Cat sat up to see who was coming, glad to at least have something to see beside that accursed ceiling. It was the scarred face of Schael Corwin that greeted her with a surly expression.

 

“Good morning, Cat,” she coldly said.

 

The witch blinked in slight confusion.

 

“Is it morning? It’s hard to tell in here.”

 

The cells of the Flaming Fist building had no windows, so there was no way to tell the time of day.

 

“I’m here to ask you to end this madness,” Corwin demanded, as if she actually held any authority over Cat. “The city's endured enough of late—the iron crisis, Sarevok, the crusade… Now this.”

 

Cat groaned. If Corwin was there to lecture her, then she would rather be left staring at the ceiling.

 

“The dark days must end,” Corwin continued. “And they won’t, not with you languishing here claiming innocence. If you care for Baldur’s Gate, even a little… admit your crime. Accept the punishment given you.”

 

Cat huffed. It was _so_ easy for Corwin to speak of sacrifice like that when she hadn’t been judged as evil since her birth. The witch felt that the weight of all those years, all those disapproving looks, was now tumbling on her. No, she refused to lay down and let it smash her.

 

“You’d have me throw myself on the sword for what?” She spat. “The benefit of those who judge me without even knowing me? And for the wrong crimes?”

 

Cat let out a bitter laugh. How dare she consider that she would martyr herself for a bunch of ungrateful, undeserving bastards?

 

Corwin gave a long sigh. There was a disgusting mixture of pity and compassion in her eyes. Cat was well aware that the archer had been attracted to her since they departed to stop the crusade, she saw the hurt in her eyes when she replaced her for Dorn… but the witch did not want anyone’s pity, neither did she have any use for compassion; she needed to get out of that cell and find out the truth, herself.

 

“Maybe you are innocent,” the officer ventured. “Maybe the eyes of all those who saw you standing over Skie’s corpse deceived them. It doesn’t matter. The city is all that matters now. My father taught me that a hero –a real hero–, is prepared to sacrifice themselves for the greater good. They called you the hero of Baldur’s Gate. Now you have the chance to earn the name… Goodbye, Cat.”

 

And she left, leaving Cat to her earlier reflections. Where was she? Oh, right; imprisoned, no way out, convicted for a crime she did not commit, a murder performed with a dagger that she did not possess…

 

Another possibility came to Cat’s mind. What if she had, indeed, been framed? There were plenty of people who hated her and her _evil_ ways, but did any of those did so enough to kill an innocent woman? No, that wasn't the point. Who would benefit from having her behind bars? Who was so powerful to erase all trace of the Soultaker Dagger from the Weave itself?

 

Then she remembered the bloodsoaked minutes she had found when registering the body of the devil lady who was attacking the crusaders at the entrance of Avernus. They spoke of a mortal called the Exile, powerful enough to threaten the devil attendants of the meeting covered in those minutes. She also remembered mentions of an exile from a letter she extracted from the body of an elven mage. According to said letter, the mage had been tasked with capturing the exile and taking him back to his natal Suldanessellar. However, Cat didn't recall encountering a particularly powerful elven mage. But, what if it was…?

 

Her trail of thoughts was interrupted yet again by the heavy sound of boots against the stone floor. Corwin again? Seriously?

 

“I’m warning you, officer, if you try to convince me to confess one more time, I’m going to shove a lightning bolt up your—oh, hi.”

 

Her visitor turned out to be a much more agreeable company than the archer.

 

“Cat,” he greeted her.

 

“Dorn,” she replied, smiling despite everything that had been happening to her in the last hours.

 

The blackguard made a thorough visual inspection of her body, head to toe, with a lopsided smirk.

 

“Chains suit you,” he finally spoke, in a lower rumble.

 

Out of all the things he could have said, the damned man had to go and pick the one that magically made every worry in Cat’s mind disappear, replacing it with echoes of the night before, and hunger for more.

 

“You don't look so bad yourself,” she teased back, pulling at the chains to show herself off.

 

“I can hardly believe you had it in you,” Dorn said in a hushed tone. “Yet again, Bhaalspawn, you impress me. You are more worthy than I’d imagined.”

 

“I am featured in your imagination, am I?” Cat asked, though she knew the answer well. She bowed a little, to show a bit more of her neck and cleavage, covered in rather recent hickies.

 

Dorn took a good glance at his work, but then he turned serious.

 

“Though I approve of the murder, I cannot condone your sloppiness,” he used the tone a strict teacher would use to lecture a lazy student. “Killing her so openly, splashing her blood around until you dripped with it…” And there was his dark smirk again, as his eyes roamed her figure once more, taking good notice of the bloodsoaked shirt she still wore, “attractive, but sloppy.”

 

“Are you really questioning a Child of Murder on her field of expertise?” Cat scoffed. “If it was sloppy it’s because I didn't actually kill her. I was framed; I just can’t prove it.”

 

Dorn huffed. He looked frustrated to hear that.

 

“That is beside the point. The fact is you are caged, now, and I am not.”

 

Cat felt a glimmer of hope when she heard that, and clung to it for dear life.

 

“Then release me, as I did you!”

 

However, the glimmer disappeared and left her back in the darkness as soon as she saw the… regret? sadness? in Dorn's face. He shook his head.

 

“Even I could not escape such confinement. The effort they have expended to ensure your imprisonment is… formidable,” he doubted before continuing. “My presence here is tolerated at best. With you jailed for murder, I must make a quick exit lest the fine officers find some excuse to hang me.”

 

Cat wanted to be mad at him, to scream at him that he wasn't even trying, that he was just leaving her again… but she knew that he was right. He had seldom left her side during the war against the Crusade, it was a well known fact, so if she didn't confess, surely the officers would soon begin a witch hunt. He _had_ to leave.

 

“I understand,” Cat replied, with a sad smile. “At least one of us can be safe.”

 

Dorn frowned when he saw her expression.

 

“I wish it could be otherwise.”

 

He stared at her in silence for a moment, pondering. He really didn't seem to like seeing Cat like that. Part of her wished that he left so he didn't have to keep seeing her in that pathetic state, and a much bigger part of her wanted to reach out to him, to at least be able to touch him once more before he left. His thoughts looked to be similar, by the way he tried to get a hand in between the bars holding the witch. Despite the situation, he graced Cat with his sly smirk once more.

 

“The sight of you with Skie's blood plastering your shirt to your chest was… exciting,” he said in a hot whisper. “If it were not for these unbending bars, I would show you how much I still desire you. But instead, I must leave. I hope you find freedom again.”

 

“I will.” It was a promise, both to Dorn and to herself. She would find the one who framed her and retrieve the Soultaker from their cold, dead hands.

 

Cat sighed as she watched Dorn leave. There was still so much she wished to say to him, so much she did not understand… Yes, it had been a one night stand, but there had been weeks and weeks of tension, of anticipation, leading up to that moment. And when that delightful night happened, something inside Cat shifted… she could feel it. She did not dare identify the feeling, but when he looked at her and called her a goddess, it made her feel like she never wanted to leave that bed, like she wanted time to stop at that moment, in that room, so nothing else remained but the two of them; him worshipping her body and soul. Because that was what set Dorn apart; it hadn't been just lust that drove him to her, she could see it in his eyes when he gazed at her, hear it in his voice when he spoke to her, feel it in his hands when they touched her skin. There was more to him, though she could not tell exactly what, and now fate had brought them apart again.

 

“Damnit!” She shouted as she punched the wall. It was painful and pointless, but the feeling growing in her chest hurt a lot more.

 

_No, don’t. Not now. It’s not the time. He has already left, and you need to get the hells out of this place._

 

So Cat replaced the very uncomfortable and borderline painful feelings with thoughts of the one person who could have been able to frame her for Skie's murder like that. The single mage who had been powerful enough to intrude her dreams, and yet had done nothing else throughout the war. And just as if she had summoned him, he appeared before her, hunching, staring right through her from under his hood.

 

“Chains become you, Child of Bhaal.” The way Dorn had said it had made Cat's heart nearly stop and left her thick with desire. The way the hooded man said exactly the same sent a cold shiver down her spine. “The people you saved have turned on you, treating you as some nightmare made flesh. How does it feel to be trapped in a cell, after all you’ve done for this city?”

 

“You,” Cat growled, her earlier bout of fear replaced with rage. “You were there from the beginning. You’re behind this. What game are you playing?”

 

“I warned you of the darkness running through your veins,” he replied, his voice as cold and emotionless as ever. “Divine blood is not to be trifled with. Without control, power is naught but peril.”

 

“And of course, you are here to offer me to learn how to control my power,” Cat retorted, rolling her eyes. “I have it way under control, thank you very much. I did not slay Skie. You framed me so I would end up here and play your stupid games. Well, guess what; I’m not! I’ll find proof that it was all your doing, find the dagger, bring Skie back, and you will regret the day you decided to pester me in my dreams!”

 

“Such big words, and nothing to back them up,” the man taunted her, getting closer to the bars of the cell. Cat instinctively walked back. “But I am confident you will survive this. A greater destiny awaits you.”

 

As he pronounced the words, Cat began to feel weary. She dropped on her knees, trying to fight back the grogginess induced by the man, but in the end, she collapsed on the floor, next to her bed.

 

_A wall of fire to her front. A wall of fire to her back. She was trapped. Cat looked around; she was back at Dragonspear Castle's grand salon. Fear invaded her; the nightmarish monster she had faced there would soon appear again. But instead, she saw Skie, looking just as lost, confused and scared as the witch was right then._

 

_“Skie!” Cat called. “Skie, can you hear me?”_

 

_The woman didn't move a muscle. It appeared that she could neither see nor hear the witch. From the shadows, the hooded man appeared to Skie's left. Under his sleeve, he hid a dagger that he held with a hand that no living creature could have. It was a dead, putrid thing, with blue veins popping out, pale as the moon and with the leathery texture of a stump. In a flash that Cat was barely able to see, he slit Skie's throat, staining the walls of the castle with her blood. Then, the world faded to black around Cat._

 

_“Curious. Your mind is not so open to me as it once was—you resist my will,” the voice of the hooded man whispered in the darkness._

 

“Awake.”

 

Cat opened her eyes, groggily peering around until he saw the one who spoke.

 

“You,” she growled. “It was you. I knew it was you.”

 

The man cocked his head to the side.

 

“Tell me. What did you see?”

 

“It was you,” Cat repeated. “You killed Skie Silvershield—you set me up!”

 

Her words seemed to surprise the hooded man, though he only showed it in his words; not his voice, which kept the same emotionless tone it had always had.

 

“Despite my efforts, you remember. Impressive.”

 

Cat understood. He was trying to peer into her consciousness, to check if she'd be able to see through his deceptions and illusions. Being treated like a test subject of some sort only enraged her further.

 

“I’ll show you impressive, mage. When I escape, I am coming for you.”

 

Her threats did not appear to faze the man in the slightest.

 

“Greater powers than you have challenged me, yet I still stand,” he said. “You will escape this place. We will meet again. Fear that meeting, child of Bhaal. We have so far to go together.”

 

And then, just as he came, he calmly left, disappearing into the shadows as he walked away.

 

“Tell me your name. I want your name, you bastard!” Cat screamed to the top of her lungs. “I want your name so I can say it as I slit your throat like you did Skie! I will tear your eyes out and feed them to the crows! I AM NOT SCARED OF YOU!”

 

All of her shouting was pointless. He was gone. All the good it did was stirring Tiax from his slumber, who immediately began to bellow his impending vengeance against their captors. If his cell weren't so far away from hers, maybe the mage could talk him into cooperating to escape their imprisonment. Ignoring the mad gnome, she slumped into her bed with a sigh, tired of thinking, of shouting, of staring at the ceiling, of having everything she wanted snatched away right from her fingers.

 

Perhaps the hooded man had been right when she refused to slay Sarevok a second time in her dreams. Perhaps revenge was really everything she had left, and everything she could ever have. Well then, if that was it, she would make sure to enjoy it.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey—hey, wake up.”

 

Cat stirred from the boredom-induced slumber and lazily opened an eye, wondering who the hells was bothering her now. He saw a man in the Shadow Thieves’ gear, though she did not recognize him, perhaps due to the cowl he wore.

 

“Wake up and move your ass while you still got an ass to move,” he demanded in a hushed voice.

 

“What’s going on?” Cat asked as she stood from her bed.

 

“A jailbreak, that’s what’s goin’ on,” the man explained as he used a picklock to open the door of Cat's cell. “Yer friend Imoen's payin’ me t’ get ye out o’ here. And quite handsomely, I might add.”

 

Once in her cell, the thief picked the locks on the cuffs that Cat wore, which were connected to the chain on the ceiling. Once free, she rubbed her wrists, which were awfully sore from wearing those blasted things for so long.

 

“C’mon, we gotta move,” the thief said. “Yer stuff—whatever the stickier Fists haven't purloined—is on a table in the central chamber.”

 

It was plain to see that the man was a professional. When they first came to Baldur's Gate, Imoen had performed a few tasks for the Shadow Thieves’ local guild and earned their trust, so Alatos Thuibuld had undoubtedly sent one of his best agents to free Cat. He hid in the shadows as if he were a part of them. Cat tried to imitate him, but though she wasn't bad at moving silently, she lacked the almost supernatural stealth of the thief, and was thus discovered by her inmates. The refugees she had sent to prison after they stole her fortune from Ophyllis and spent it all in wining and dining were quick to shout as soon as they spotted her.

 

“Let me out! Please! I can help you!” One of them cried out, unaware that he was doing exactly the opposite thing.

 

“Guards! Guards! The slayer of Silvershield has escaped!” Another shouted.

 

“Sure, good, that’s just great—run away, leave the rest of us here to rot,” a woman said in a sarcastic tone that could perhaps match Cat's.

 

“I didn't do it either, hero! Don’t leave me here!” Another of the refugees who actually did beat up Ophyllis screamed to the top of his lungs. “DON’T LEAVE ME HERE!”

 

Cat muttered a curse. In mere seconds, the place would be flooded with Flaming Fists…

 

Except it wasn't. She and the thief reached the central chamber safely. There laid the corpses of the Fists who were keeping watch that night.

 

“What happened to the guards?” It was a silly question, but Cat could not help but thinking that some small talk was in order as the thief waited for her to collect her belongings and equip herself with her gear.

 

“They came down with a severe case o’ slit throat,” he replied as he handed the woman a backpack.

 

_My, he even comes with sense of humor! Imoen must have spent a fortune on him._

 

The man looked around while Cat slid out of the dirty crusade shirt and used some water from her canteen and a washcloth to clean the blood from her skin. She was aware that the thief was stealing more than a few glances at her, but she had never been one to care for modesty. And every man who had tried to touch her against her will had ended up really badly, mutilated at the very least so that he’d never try to abuse a woman again.

 

When she was ready, Cat called the man in a whisper.

 

“What do we do now?” She asked.

 

“You can get out through the basement. Come on, let's get outta here.”

 

Cat opened the basement trapdoor and went down the stairs with the thief in tow. He searched for something behind the wall, touching it and knocking on it, and nodded when he seemed to find it. He pushed, and the wall opened backwards. A secret door. How convenient.

 

“Through here,” he signaled.

 

“Where does it lead?” Cat asked, full of curiosity.

 

His answer almost made her regret the question.

 

“The sewers.”

 

_Why do I always end up in the sewers?_

 

“When you get down, there’s a waterfall to the east,” the thief explained. “Under it, there's a lake in a cavern. Imoen’ll be waitin’ for ya at the cave entrance. Got it?” Cat nodded. “Good. Now go, quickly!”

 

Cat obliged and hastily left the Flaming Fists’ headquarters. The thief closed the secret door behind her, leaving her in almost complete darkness. The witch searched in her bag of potions, that she blessedly still kept, and quaffed a potion of infravision. As she moved, though, the darkness gave into half-light, so it became easier for her to find the way. The faint sound of falling water came from somewhere far away, but Cat was certain that it was the waterfall. She just needed to follow the sound. As she advanced, the noise became stronger and easier to trace. It came from her right. Cat kept moving slowly, careful with her steps, but she was certain that her freedom was closer. She turned right at a corner and saw it. The dirty water ran smoother at the end of the pathway, and the sound of it falling became thunderous, and produced echo. That was it. That was the waterfall. She began to walk towards it and made it halfway through…

 

“Halt!” A male voice shouted.

 

Groaning, Cat turned around. Of course, it couldn't be that easy, could it?

 

At the other end of the pathway, Corporal Duncan, Officer Corwin and two Flaming Fist units; a fighter and a battlemage, ran in Cat's direction, in fighting stances. Was she so caught up in getting to the waterfall that she didn't hear their metal armor as they approached her, or did they take a shortcut she didn't know of?

 

The battlemage stood behind to convoke a ward that would prevent Cat from fleeing from the way she came. As if she could, even if she wanted to, with three elite Flaming Fists in her way.

 

“It’s the end of the line for you, Cat,” Duncan shouted. “Surrender!”

 

Corwin had nocked an arrow in her bow and was now targeting Cat.

 

“How could you?” She whispered in fury. “Escaping like a coward, after killing a father's daughter like that…”

 

Cat was sick and tired of explaining herself, of trying to prove her innocence, of everyone's glares when she walked their way, of being judged, manipulated, of feeling used. Of being forced to live up to someone else's expectations rather than choosing her own path. Corwin was no exception; the witch could see the grudge the archer bore against her in those piercing eyes. It was then that she decided that she was done playing nice. If, like the monks of Candlekeep, they wanted a monster, she would show them a damn big scary monster. She threw her head back and laughed like a maniac. It felt liberating, to cut out the strings.

 

“Is that so, officer?” She mocked the archer. “I think I know how this actually goes. You don’t give a fuck about Skie, this is all about your daughter, isn’t it?”

 

“Don’t you dare bring Rohma into this!” Corwin barked, tensing the bow in warning.

 

“It’s not me who’s doing that,” Cat kept taunting the woman. “She is such a lovely girl, and I am sure she will grow up to be a more than remarkable woman. I would hate to leave her an orphan… so you should really back off.”

 

“You dare to threaten my daughter?” Corwin bellowed. “You won’t live to see another day, you monster!”

 

Corwin shot at the same time Cat used her wand of lightning, striking Duncan and leaving him gravely wounded… yet the archer's aim was as impeccable as ever. Cat saw the arrow dug through her left arm, blood flowing down and mixing with the sewer water, and knew that she had but one option left. She winked at Corwin, raced to the waterfall, and as an arrow flew right next to her, she threw herself to the water.

 

* * *

 

The cavern was dimly lit from the west. Two carrion crawlers wandered about, searching for dead meat. A splash of water startled them, and an extremely angry woman emerged from the depths.

 

“Oh, hells no!” She roared as she swung her sling with her uninjured arm, hitting the nearest creature. She finished it off with some magic missiles.

 

The second carrion crawler would be a little trickier. Cat wouldn't be able to read a protection from paralysis scroll on time, so she couldn't let it near her. Scrunching her nose, she dove south to get as far from the creature as possible, and then walked back to land. After making sure she wasn't making contact with the water anymore, she sent it a blast of her wand of lightning that killed the thing instantly.

 

“I hate sewers,” Cat drawled as she tended to her injured shoulder. After extracting the arrow and quaffing a potion of healing, she was as good as new, and made her way towards the exit of the cavern.

 

Outside, she was soon greeted by a squeal and a bear hug. Though Imoen was physically weaker than her and had always complained about having to carry even the lightest loads, she had a death grip when it came to hugging someone. Cat returned the hug, glad to see a friendly face again.

 

“You made it!” Imoen exclaimed after letting the witch go, jumping a bit in excitement like she always used to do. “I was—I was scared you wouldn’t.”

 

“I’m glad to see you too, Imoen,” Cat replied, with a genuine smile.

 

The young woman had changed quite a bit during her training with Duchess Jannath. Last time Cat saw her, Imoen wore the typical robes of a mage. She looked cute in those. Now, however, she had styled them differently, to adapt them to the thieving activities she seemed to have decided to take on again. Her robe was short, leaving her legs free to move with no risk of tripping, and the cowl in it was longer, to better conceal her face.

 

“I wanted to visit you in jail,” Imoen explained in an apologetic tone and her usual rushed speech, “but they wouldn’t even let me through the door. I thought you were done for. I’m so sorry, Cat, I should never have let you go to Dragonspear without me.”

 

Cat chuckled.

 

“You make it sound as though you could stop me.”

 

“Well, we’re together again now, and that’s the way it’s going to stay,” the other mage replied, in a tone that admitted no arguments. “I’m not letting you out of my sight ever again.”

 

Cat didn’t like the tone Imoen used. She had a great life ahead of her at Baldur’s Gate, and yet she chose her childhood friend over it, with everything it entailed. The witch was glad to be back with her best friend, but she did not like the price Imoen kept paying for the company of someone who was no good to her. Yet she was too selfish, too coward, too… weak? to say it to the former thief out loud.

 

Imoen shook her thoughts off with her next words.

 

“Come on, let’s get a move on. It’s only a matter of time before the Flaming Fist figures out where you are.”

 

Cat nodded and followed her friend. She knew both Duncan and Corwin had surely retired to their headquarters to heal the former, but once he was patched up, they would lead a much bigger squad against her. It was imperative that they got as far from Baldur’s Gate as possible, and soon. After hiking through the forest for a while, the pair reached a clearing where some familiar faces awaited. Cat had to repress a groan.

 

“Heya, everyone!” Imoen greeted them with her usual cheer. “I got her!”

 

“Rejoice, Boo! Our friends have returned to us!” The huge Minsc exclaimed, cradling his tiny rodent in his hands with a gentleness that seemed unlikely for a man of his size.

 

 _Bullshit. I met a bigger man who could be just as gentle to me,_ Cat thought, reminiscing against her will.

 

Then, she caught the Rashemi’s stern gaze.

 

“But people have said one of our friends has been up to no good…”

 

Dynaheir, by his side as usual, took the turn to speak, staring down at Cat as if she were a roach. Cat glared back. Who did she think she was?

 

“I never thought I’d see thee again, Cat,” she said in her most despective tone. “Knowing what I know, I would have preferred it that way. Thou art lucky to have a supporter as passionate as Imoen. Were it not for her, neither I nor Minsc would deign to look upon thee, never mind assisting thee in escaping justice.”

 

“Is this because of Skie, or because I accepted Edwin’s help, which turned out to be invaluable to our victory, by the way?” Cat taunted the witch, tired of how her pride always got in the way of reason.

 

However, it was Jaheira who replied.

 

“So Imoen’s hireling told it true. You have escaped the Fist and Silvershield’s justice—for the moment,” she quickly added. “I promised Gorion to watch over and protect you. Your actions make me question that promise.”

 

 _Yeah, and by “protecting”, he surely meant keeping me under the Harper’s leash,_ Cat thought, annoyed at the mention of her foster father.

 

The last to speak was Khalid. Despite their earlier talk in Bridgefort, he looked defiant.

 

“Do not th-think I’m pleased to be here, Cat. What I do, I do for Gorion and Imoen.”

 

“I wonder why,” Cat replied, reminding him of the little chat they had, when he confessed to having slayed her mother to save her.

 

However, he refused to bring in the subject. Cat did not have to imagine the reason.

 

“If you did indeed murder Skie Silvershield, you will answer for it.”

 

Imoen broke in the argument.

 

“Could we maybe talk about this someplace, you know—far away from here?”

 

Cat glared at the people before her. Just what she needed, more righteous idiots judging her for all the wrong reasons.

 

“These are the people you gathered to help me escape the Fist?” Cat asked Imoen, rubbing her temples to prevent the headache that would soon follow if she kept listening to their blabbering for much longer.

 

“Of the people I could find who’d actually help, they’re the ones I actually believed WOULD help,” Imoen replied, a bit tense. “No offense, but some of your friends are, well… less than reliable.”

 

_That depends on what you ask of them._

 

“Well, most could not keep being associated with me without putting themselves in danger,” Cat replied, recalling the looks of fear in Viconia and Baeloth’s faces. “Safana is too worried about her reputation to bother helping, and Edwin… he actually noticed something was off, that the central chamber of the castle reeked of illusory magic, but he couldn't investigate it safely if he was openly involved with me. And Dorn… didn't you find him?”

 

Imoen shook her head, frowning.

 

“I heard he helped you quite a bit, and that he was the one to kill the big bad devil, which I find quite surprising,” she needlessly added. She had never liked the blackguard. “But I got word from the Shadow Thieves that he left the city the morning after they caged you.”

 

Cat sighed. She knew it couldn't have been, but still, she had wanted to cling to that tiny possibility. With all those unfriendly faces around, she could really use his presence and help around, just in case someone decided to turn against her, which by the looks of it, seemed more than possible, even though Imoen was blinded to the fact that the people she had gathered despised her.

 

“He is undoubtedly preoccupied doing his patron's bidding.”

 

That was another issue. Belhifet had claimed to be allied to Ur-Gothoz, and though alliances between devils were even flimsier than among mortals, Cat was certain that he would indeed have to make up for the loss of such an important power at the Blood War. Imoen brushed off the issue, not wanting to hear any more of it.

 

“Probably. He can do whatever he wants, so long as he does it far away from me. That half-orc gives me the creeps.”

 

Cat had to summon the whole of her will not to roll her eyes at that. After their time separated, she was beginning to see how much Gorion had managed to brainwash Imoen into judging people for their allegiances, rather than for the acts carried for the sake of the other.

 

“The important thing is, you aren't alone,” Imoen continued.

 

_I’m almost as good as that._

 

“I’m going to get you out of this,” Imoen told Cat, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I should have never let you get into it in the first place.”

 

Then, she addressed the others.

 

“Let’s move. Forward!”

 

Truth be told, Imoen made for quite an impressive leader. She not only had been able to talk all those people into helping her; she was successfully directing them. No retorts, no arguments. Perhaps she didn't need Cat as much as the witch used to think, not anymore. Maybe it was time that the less experienced mage found a path for herself to follow… if she could be convinced to do so, that is.

 

The group walked at a rushed pace, always moving south. Perhaps Imoen wanted to flee to Amn. It would probably be the wisest way of escaping the ire of the finest city of the Sword Coast. Hours passed, the stars moved –or rather, it was the planet itself that moved, creating the illusion of moving constellations; Cat had learned that a while back–, and though there were still a few hours ahead before dawn, the group began to feel the effect of such a long hike. After some searching, Imoen found another clearing, perfect for camping and calling it a night. She yawned and stretched her limbs.

 

“I’m pretty sure the Flaming Fist isn't on our trail,” she said. “Can we take a break, just for a minute?”

 

Oh, so it was going to be an all-nighter? Cat had grown fond of those; with two drows in her group, she had become used to being active at night, and it was rather fun.

 

“I th-th-think we could all use a… a rest,” Khalid stammered, suppressing a yawn.

 

Minsc fetched some wood, and Jaheira and Dynaheir lit a fire. Cat sat next to it, hoping to dry her clothes and hair. The stench of the sewers clung to her still, but it did have the advantage of driving her “companions” far from her. Well, that, and the fact that they considered her a cold-hearted murderer. Which she was, though certainly not the one they believed her to be. She thought of the hooded man. He said they would meet again. If that was so, she would make sure to be ready. Retrieving her precious spellbook from her bag of holding, where it had been safe from the sewer water, she began to prepare spells designed to bring down a mage. However, it seemed that exhaustion caught up with her before she could complete her task. While putting the book into her backpack, she heard Imoen's groggy voice.

 

“Hey, do you feel a little… off?”

 

Suddenly, mist enveloped the clearing. Cat tried to reach for her wand of lightning, but her mind became just as clouded as her surroundings. She heard the cries of her companions and saw shadowy figures, but she was in a daze. The faces of every single person she came to know flashed before her eyes, decaying and rotting until only their skulls remained. Fighting for air, she fell to the floor. The last she saw before losing consciousness was the hooded man, and her last reflection was that if he were able to, the bastard would be smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! That was one long chapter! So many things happened and I didn't really want to leave them behind, so this long stuff is the result. I really hope you enjoyed this part of the Strangeness and Charm series, and as I said before, we'll meet again in the next one; Shadows of Amn!
> 
> Also, sorry if I mess something up with the grammar/writing/whatever, my brain's completely fried right now and I'm using its full capacity just to publish this. I need a break.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, what did you think of this start? I hope it wasn't disappointing! Please do let me know what you think, your feedback makes my day! 
> 
> See you on the next one, my darlings!


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